Junipee and Stot

"I don’t know," said Junipee once again.

"Well, I’m scared," said Stot.

"If you don’t know where you are, what’s there to be scared of?"

"Ig’n’rance!"

These were two children, Junipee and Stot, sister and brother. Juniperea was a little older than her brother, and Aristotle was quite a bit younger than his sister. Most of the time they got along famously, for Junipee had to be both sister and mother, and so the sister was a little bit wise and the mother was a little bit playful, and on the whole they tempered one another nicely.

They had now been in the sky, above the clouds, for two days. Or was it three? They were very hungry, for the candy bars in their pockets had long ago given out. They would have been very thirsty, too, but for some rain now and then, which had made a shallow puddle of sweet clear water about their feet, filling Chubby Cub’s bowl to a depth of about an inch.

Chubby Cub was a bear on the front of a cereal box, and the bowl he held between his round stubby paws was supposed to be full of cereal flakes. But the two children had made a game of kicking the styrofoam flakes overboard, which might have been a bad idea; for they had nothing to cover-up with during the chill night but their green winter jackets and the puffs of white breath from their mouths. So they became very cold and clung together shivvering.

Two—or perhaps three—days before, they had climbed a tall spreading tree to watch the big parade that came down the boulevard of the great city once every year, the parade of the big balloons. The balloons were as big as houses and were pulled along and guided by many strong men, and they were all in the shapes of different whimsical characters; especially those with something to sell—like Chubby Cub, who looked like a plump balloon even before he was one.

Now it seemed the wind had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. He was in an ornery mood and fit to be tied. So just as the Chubby Cub balloon passed the tree in which Junipee and Stot were hiding, he picked up the balloon and dashed it up against the tree. The children tumbled out, and it was a long way to the ground, which was covered with cement. They would have been hurt badly if the wind had not had a change of mood just then and pushed Chubby Cub’s enormous cereal bowl underneath them, which broke their fall instead of their fall breaking them.

Alas, the wind cannot manage to do a good deed without doing a bad one to make up for it. He pulled the balloon upward with such force that the men below had to let loose their cables, and the balloon floated free. It bobbed up into the grey-blue sky in a great hasty rush, scraping a skyscraper or two along the way and tossing the little girl and boy this way and that. Soon enough, though, everything was far below them.

They mounted high high up, up to where the air is a deep blue and the sun is white as a china plate. Up there it seemed to Junipee and Stot that they were perfectly still. But that is a trick the wind plays, for in reality they were moving along very quickly indeed.

For many hours they swept along over cities and towns, forests and fields, prairies and deserts and finally the shiny blue ocean. In the first hours they saw many signs of man down below, though the people themselves were too small to be seen. But the prairies and deserts seemed all but deserted, except for an occasional dark line that Junipee said was a highway. Over the ocean they saw nothing but empty water, not even a bird.

"Where are the airplanes?" Stot had asked.

"We saw lots of planes before," was the reply.

"But where are they now?" the boy had demanded, and Junipee had been forced to admit that she didn’t know.

There had been beautiful orange sunsets and pale golden sunrises. There had been nights of frosty stars crowded together so thickly that it was not possible to say where one star ended and another began. And there was cold rain, sometimes falling upward, whipped by the winds as lightning played tag all around them. On they flew, on and on; and Junipee told Stot she thought they were travelling to the south and the west.

"Both?" he whined.

One night—it might have been the third one—it seemed to both children, as they peered carefully over the edge of the cereal bowl, that they were no longer over water. Below them was a mushy darkness that reflected no light.

"Is it land?" asked Stot.

"I think so, Stot," responded Junipee doubtfully.

"You don’t know?"

"I’m not so sure," she said. "If it was land, we’d see the lights of cars and cities. But all I see is darkness."

"I know why!" chirped the boy. "They must all have gone to bed!"

When the dawn came, the sky was pearl-grey and the land below was pewter-grey as far as the eye could see.

Junipee sighed in disappointment. "It’s a desert."

"Junipee," said Stot, "I think we’re going to come down in it." In truth, Chubby Cub seemed to be flying lower than before—lower and lower.

They didn’t want to come down in the desert. The air felt hot, and smelled as though it had breakfasted on onions and radishes. And as the sun rose, the desert turned ugly shades of yellow and brown. But they were not being given any choice as to destination.

Then something happened, something unexpected, swift as the turning of a page in a book. Below them, in front of them, and on both sides of them, the ugly desert winked out and completely disappeared. It remained behind them—only there.

"Oh!" gasped Junipee in pleasure, while Stot could think of nothing to say at all.

Spread out before them was a strange and lovely countryside. There were low rounded hills and grassy meadows, and little square patches that might have been farms, with roads threading their ways between them. Ahead was a darker region, which looked like a woodlands; and strange to say, everything that they could see was tinted in purple. Sometimes the purple shading was bright and bold, sometimes deep, and sometimes so faint that the usual colors of things could be seen through it, like looking through a mist. There were shades of royal purple, of dark indigo, of violet tending toward red. But it was altogether a purple land, and even the sunlight was just a little bit touched with purple.

"What a funny kind of place!" giggled little Stot.

The Chubby Cub balloon dropped lower toward the ground and brushed the tops of some trees. Just beyond the trees was a meadow, where the two were gently dipped out of the bowl and sent somersaulting as Chubby Cub’s paws scraped the ground.

Emptied of its burden, the big balloon took to the sky again; and what became of it after that, I do not know.




 

Purple Breakfast

"I’ll miss him," said Stot very gravely.

"Let’s find someone who will give us something to eat," said his sister.

They rose and walked through the meadow in the gentle morning sunlight, back in the direction where they thought they had seen some farms from above. They passed through a stand of trees, and on the other side of the trees they found a road, a broad path worn into the grassy ground. And there on the road stood two peculiar persons.

The persons were men. In fact, they were farmers, it seemed, for one of them held a hoe, and the other held a sprig of alfalfa in his mouth. They were peculiar because they were dressed in odd, old-fashioned costumes, like people in a pageant. Their garments were of various shades of purple, and had many buckles and little buttons, and something like shoe-laces everywhere but on their shoes, which turned up at the toes. They wore pointed hats with wide flat brims, and little Stot found these very comical.

"Why is he laughing?" asked one of the men.

"Oh, he laughs at everything," Junipee replied.

The men both nodded. "How wise!" remarked the man with the hoe.

"I suppose," the girl agreed. "Do you know where we are?"

The farmer with the alfalfa in his mouth removed it. "Why yes," he said. "You are right there, for we can see you."

"You ought to look yourself before asking," added the other man. "It would save you breath, and others inconvenience."

"But what is the name of the place we’re at?" demanded Junipee.

"The name?" repeated the farmer with the hoe. "I don’t believe it has a name. Or if it does, it has never mentioned it. We call it ‘the road’."

"But—!" Junipee didn’t know how to untangle this jumbled conversation, and Stot just giggled.

"I am Ubb," said the man with the hoe, "and this is Genfa. What are you?"

Stot answered. "I’m Stot. She’s Junipee."

"Indeed," said Genfa; "but that was not the question. You are not Gillikins, for everyone here in the Country of the Gillikins is tinged with a purplish hue. You are not blue enough to be Munchkins, nor yellow enough to be Winkies, nor red enough to be Quadlings."

"And although your garments are shades of green, your skins are not," added Ubb; "and so you cannot be visitors from the City of Emeralds. But none of the countries in this Land of Oz favors the color of chocolate with milk. That is why I wondered what you were."

"You mean ever’body here is colored like crayons?" asked Stot, wide-eyed.

"We are colored like ourselves," Ubb declared.

"We’re African-Americans," said Junipee. "Haven’t you ever seen a black person?"

Genfa removed his tall hat and scratched his head. "Never at all."

"Is this Connetty-cut?" little Stot inquired.

"They just told us this place is called Oz," Junipee reproved. "Now hush." She turned again to the farmers. "I have never heard of Oz. Are we still in America?"

The farmers exchanged glances. "If there is more than one of you, little girl, then I suppose you may still be in America. But if there is only one of you at a time, then that one is here in Oz."

This was Ubb’s commentary. Genfa lay a cautioning hand upon the other’s arm. "Ubb, I wonder if they have come from the great outside world beyond the desert. They say it happens now and then."

Stot waved his hand for attention. "We went over the desert in the Chubby Cub balloon!"

"Then that accounts for it," said Ubb with satisfaction. "Well, small America-ites, you are in the Gillikin Country of the Land of Oz, the northmost and purplemost of its five principal regions. If that answers your question, we shall bid the two of you good morning; for we have not yet had breakfast."

"Neither have we," said Junipee, "and we’re mighty hungry."

Genfa nodded. "Then follow us."

They went down the road for a mile or so, and then turned off on a small winding path through fields where there were sheep and cows and pigs and chickens, all intermingled and strolling about casually.

Stot pointed. "Are they yours?"

"Oh, some of them are," Genfa said, not turning to look. "We don’t much care to remember who is whose; nor do the animals trouble themselves about it, as long as they are well fed and watered."

"It is the same with the corn and the wheat," Ubb added. "And I have never heard the watermelons complain."

At the end of the path was a farmhouse, which was rounded on top like a big bowler hat and had tall chimneys on either side. "In America the houses don’t look like that at all," remarked Junipee. "Some of them have roofs that slant together to a peak, and others are like boxes that go up and up into the sky."

"For miles!" exclaimed Stot.

"Most interesting," said Ubb with a yawn. He led them into the kitchen of the farmhouse and seated them at a simple wooden table with a pretty lavendar trim. Soon they were eating purple porridge, drinking purple orange juice, and munching purple bacon.

Stot asked Genfa if the bacon was from their own pigs. "No," the farmer responded. "We do not require the pigs to work for their bed and board, as their inherent beauty is a sufficient contribution to life. We harvest the bacon ourselves. Look!" He gestured at the counter, and the children beheld a large melon with layers of rind which could be pulled off in strips like the skin of an onion. "We like to think our baconouba melons are the most flavorful around."

Junipee sighed. This land of Oz was proving a most perplexing sort of place. "Is there a bus or a train that will take us back to New York?"

"I know nothing of ‘bus’ or ‘train’ or any York at all, old or new," was Ubb’s reply. "Can you not return the way you came?"

Junipee explained—or tried to—that they had lost their means of transport. Then she asked if the farmers had a telephone.

"I don’t think so," said Ubb hesitantly. "Is it something water comes out of?"

The children shook their heads.

"Can you sleep on it?" asked Genfa.

The children shook their heads.

"Is it a thing you pound nails with?" asked Ubb.

The children shook their heads.

"Ah!" Genfa exclaimed. "Then it must be the thing you dig post-holes with."

"Uh-uh," said Stot. "You talk on it."

This puzzled the two farmers greatly. After a time Ubb said, "It seems to me I vaguely recollect a hazy half-memory that someone mentioned a word like that once. But who was it? Why, I think it was the Pebble and Rock Man who said it."

Junipee stood up from her chair and drew her brother up to his feet as well. "We ought to go see him, then."

"He is easy enough to see," responded Genfa, "if you happen to be standing in the right place, and if it is not too dark. Just go back to the road, and turn right. Walk on a ways; and when you come to a fence that blocks the road, stop."

"And then what?" Junipee inquired.

"And then turn around and walk all the way back until you see a sign painted on a big boulder that directs you to the home of the Pebble and Rock Man."

Junipee frowned. "But why not just turn at the sign in the first place?"

"If you wanted to take the short-cut," Ubb replied with a patient smile, "you ought to have said so."

Junipee and Stot thanked the farmers for their hospitality and left as quickly as possible. And as they were in some haste, they did take the short-cut after all.




 

The Pebble and Rock Man

THE PEBBLE AND ROCK MAN

IS THIS WAY

This was followed by an arrow pointing to a narrow dirt path that led off through the fields.

As Junipee stood reading the notice aloud to Stot, who could not yet read and had to be read-to, a nearby voice said:

"Ill-advised!"

They were startled and looked about right and left. There was no one to be seen. Then the voice came again:

"Be careful!"

And the children saw it issued from a fat lady turkey squatting contentedly on a patch of clover by the side of the road.

"Junipee!" gasped Stot. "The big bird talked!"

"Indeed," said the turkey, "it was I who spoke. Not that I wish to interfere in your affairs, and it surely is none of my business; but I perceive that you are starngers."

"How is it you talk?" demanded Junipee. "You’re not a parrot or a mynah bird."

"Pray tell, has there been a law passed, a royal decree issued, which restricts the right to speak one’s mind to those particular species?" the turkey responded with some asperity.

"In New York, birds can’t talk, generally," explained Stot. "They just chirp."

"Turkeys do not chirp, they gobble," said the bird in a friendlier tone. "And here you will find that we converse most piquantly upon many topics of interest."

Junipee approached the turkey and crouched down. "Why did you tell us to be careful? Is the Pebble and Rock Man a bad man?"

"I don’t choose to gossip," she replied after a moment. "But one might say he has something of a bad reputation. He is unfriendly and keeps to himself, which naturally lends itself to—suspicion."

"Well, we have to see him, in order to get home."

"As you like," said the turkey. "Follow the path and you will find him, or he will find you." So Junipee and Stot took to the little path. The turkey watched them go, and after a moment a dozen little chicks sprung forth from their hiding-places beneath her feathers and watched them as well.

The path twisted and turned, but most of all it became deeper, like a gash in the ground. As it tended downward, the sides became high and steep, and soon Junipee and Stot could no longer see the open fields around them. Finally the path came to the round mouth of a cave and continued straight on into darkness.

"I don’t like the dark, Junipee," whined Stot.

"I’ll hold your hand, if you’re going to be a baby about it," she responded; but her own voice was unsteady.

The walked on in—there was no bell to announce them—and after just a few steps the narrow hallway broadened out into a round room lined with many rocks fitted together so that there was no space between them. The only light came from the entrance; and as it had to squeeze by the two children, it was very dark.

"I can’t see!" Stot whispered.

"Course not," replied Junipee. "It’s dark in here. But you can see a little, can’t you?"

"Guess so. But there’s nothing to see."

Indeed, the room was just an empty space with no exit and no furnishings of any sort.

"The Pebble and Rock Man must be out," the girl declared. "I wonder if we should wait for him."

But Stot tugged on Junipee’s sleeve. "He’s not out," he breathed. "He’s sitting over there."

Junipee looked where her brother was pointing, but it took a good while before she could make out what he was pointing at. Then it occurred to her that some of the rocks in the far wall stood out from the others behind. And then she realized that they were not rocks at all, but the arms and legs and body and head of a man.

This little man, if you want to call him that, had a body that was fat and round and rather lumpy, though his arms and legs were quite spindly and looked as though they would snap like match-sticks if put to any use. His head was plump and fat-cheeked, and a long scraggly beard tumbled from his chin and obscured any neck he might have. The long hair on top of his head seemed to fall upward rather than down, curving together to a point. And much though it was hard to make out colors in the dimness, the man seemed to be mostly shades of tan, beige, brown, and grey—just like a pile of rocks: for on closer examination it was clear that although he resembled a person of flesh, his whole body (except his hair) was really a concoction of bits and pieces of rock, put together very smoothly and intricately. Altogether he looked like a combination of Santa Claus, a rockpile, and an onion.

At that moment the Pebble and Rock Man was smoking a long-stemmed pipe, the bowl of which glowed faintly like an ember. Upon his face he bore a calm, if somewhat sly, expression.

After several quiet puffs, he finally spoke in a deep and rather gravelly voice. "I won’t ask you what I can do to make you happy," said he. He then drew upon his pipe and fell silent again for a little time. Then he removed the pipe and said, "I have learnt by hard experience that you cannot make children happy no matter what you do, for they will not be satisfied." He put the pipe back in his mouth and was silent again.

"Are you the—the Man?" inquired Stot, forgetting what the man was called.

"I am."

"The farmers said you could help us," said Junipee.

The Rock Man blew a smoke ring. "I fear they wanted only to be rid of you, child, for I can help no one."

"They said you had a telephone," continued Junipee; "and if you do, we’d like to call the police—or somebody—and arrange to go back home to New York, where we live."

"The farmers have poor ears and misunderstood. I do not have a ‘telephone,’ but rather a tellus-stone."

"What’s that?" asked Stot, getting over his fear.

"It is a little flat stone with which you may tell things to anyone else who also has such a stone," the man answered. "That is why it is named ‘tell-us stone’." He smoked for a bit, thoughtfully. "I use the tellus-stone to keep in touch with some of my old compatriots."

"What’s that?" Of course it was Stot who spoke.

"Compatriots are fellow beings of one’s own kind," the Rock Man explained. "And before you ask: the kind they are, are Nomes. And so am I."

"I’ve never heard of Nomes," declared Junipee somewhat incautiously.

"Well," said the Rock Man, "you have now, haven’t you."

Junipee took a step closer, trying to see him more clearly. "Do they all look like you?"

"No indeed," he replied. "We all have our own looks which make us ourselves and not someone else. But I am the Nome King, you know, and all my subjects resemble me in this way or that. However, to preserve my royal dignity I take some care not to resemble them back."

"Goshee!" cried Stot in delight. "A king!"

"Well, to be precise—I was the Nome King," the Rock Man added reluctantly. "I, Ruggedo, His Mineralific Majesty, was deposed as Metal Monarch and King of the Nomes by a little girl and her army of meddlesome friends. My place was taken by my chamberlain Kaliko, who is not even of the royal vein. He occupies my throne yet, years and years later. Ah me, it is a brittle, crumblesome, sandstone life." With the long stem of his pipe he gestured toward one side of the room, which was really a little cavern, and when Junipee turned to look she found two flat-topped stones there which had certainly not been there before. "Do sit down," said the former Nome King.

"They don’t look very soft," Stot commented suspiciously.

"They are soft enough for you weak-bottomed mortals," Ruggedo retorted. "I have made them that way, for I have power over stones and rocks, metals and gems, and can cause them to be as I wish them to be." To demonstrate this he waved his free hand, and some of the stones in the ceiling began to glow with a pale amber light. The children sat down, to be polite, and found that the stones were soft as feather cushions.

Junipee arranged herself daintily and said, "Mr. Ruggedo, we don’t have Nomes in the United States of America, so you really ought to explain yourself."

"You are quite wrong," countered the Rock Man after a draw upon his pipe. "There are Nomes in your country—underneath it, anyway—just as there are everywhere else upon this wonderful world of ours. Who do you suppose breaks the solid earth into stones, the stones into rocks, and the rocks into pebbles? Who do you suppose labors unceasingly to stock your mines with useful metals and precious gems? Without my people, working in silence down beneath your feet, your civilization would fall to ruins, and your lovely ladies—like you, my child—would have nothing to hang from their ears."

Stot had by now lost all fear; and so he giggled. "You’re just silly!"

Ruggedo smiled a smile that could have meant anything. "Am I? Perhaps so, for it’s a habit of mine. But the young lady did ask."

"This whole country is a magic place, sure enough," Junipee said slowly. "Can ever’body here in Oz do magic?"

Ruggedo chuckled mildly. "No, no, not everyone—first of all, it is forbidden by our gracious dictatress, Ozma, for anyone to practice magic but those in her little circle. But even so, magic comes naturally only to fairy-folk, such as the elves and knooks and mer-people; and the Nomes, who rule the vast underground world. I used to be able to do much more, you know," he continued dreamily, "for I owned a magic wishing belt that was good for all sorts of common uses and conveniences, such as transportation and, especially, transformations. But that was long, long ago."

"Did its batteries wear out?" asked Stot.

"It was stolen from me!" replied Ruggedo sharply. "In fact, it was a little girl from America who stole it."

"Oh!" Junipee cried. "I wonder if I know her. Is she the one who dis-posed you?"

The former Nome King shook his head. "No, that was another meddlesome little girl from America named Betsy Bobbin. It was Dorothy, who is now a Princess of Oz, who first attacked me and stole the Magic Belt—Dorothy and Ozma herself—and a terrible chicken named Billina."

"Won’t they give it back?" Stot inquired.

"Of course not!" growled the Nome. "They are wicked, selfish, vindictive people, as are so many of you meat-people who swarm upon the chilly outer crust of the earth." Then he caught hold of his temper and puffed his pipe philosophically for a time. When he resumed speaking his tone was much milder. "Well, that is only my opinion, and I am often in the wrong. Perhaps I deserved the treatment I received. But here’s a thought!" he added brightly. "Why don’t I tell you my story, and let you judge for yourself?"

"All right," said Junipee; "just so long as it isn’t too long."




 

The Pillar of Truth

"What are those?" interrupted Stot. "The mites and tights."

"They are like icicles of rock," Ruggedo answered. "The stalactites hang down from the ceiling, and the stalagmites rise up from the ground; and sometimes they meet right in the middle. Now then. When I was of a certain age, and my dear father Cavernonko grew weary of the duties of kingship and gave up the job, I took over—reluctantly—and was crowned King Roquat the Red. I begged everyone to call me ‘Red,’ as I didn’t wish to appear to have put on airs."

"Is Roquat your first name?" asked Junipee.

"Just so," said Ruggedo, "for it was the first one I had. I ruled my mineral kingdom wisely and peaceably for—eh, let us just say ‘for a very long time’." He smiled at the memory, and smoked for a while.

"Well," he resumed, "much to my eventual regret, I had some dealings with the surface people. I should never have done it, for it led to my ruin. In exchange for performing an extraordinary service, I was persuaded to accept ownership of the Royal Family of the Kingdom of Ev, which lies on the other side of the desert that surrounds this Land of Oz. I consented to the deal out of courtesy, for I knew them to be a very inferior group of royals who could not serve me at all."

Junipee frowned at the former Nome King. "I hope this was a long time ago, because now everyone knows that slavery is wrong and wicked."

"Oh yes indeed, very long ago, when it was considered quite the thing to do," said Ruggedo hastily. "At any rate, as they were no good at service, and I had the right to get some use from my investment, I used my Magic Belt to transform them into various pretty items of decoration."

"Like what?" Stot asked.

"Oh, vases and figurines and candy-dishes and so on. It didn’t bother them, you know: it was as though they were asleep. But I discovered—and here is a bit of free wisdom for you!—the world is full of busybodies who are convinced they know best."

"I’ve met some," declared Junipee.

"I’m not surprised. And so," continued the Nome, "it seems I had barely sat myself back upon my throne, but—here came Dorothy and Ozma and that chicken, along with a wind-up man named Tik-Tok, and an army of others from Oz, come to invade my underground kingdom and work their mischief, liberating my bric-a-brac. And what did I do?"

"What?" asked Stot, wide-eyed.

"Why, I gave ’em a chance to win what they desired in a pleasant manner, by means of a little game. But they cheated, cheated I say! They even threatened me with poison; and in the end they took my transformed decorations away with them, as well as my magic wishing belt, leaving the Underground Kingdom devastated."

"It sounds to me like these people freed the slaves," said Junipee, "which is just what you ought to have done yourself."

The former Nome King scowled at her. "As to that, you may think as you please; but it was surely excessive to deprive my people the Nomes of their Magic Belt—which, as it could hardly fit around the entire population, I wore upon my own person."

"Did you have your own person?" Stot asked in surprise.

"It was I myself, the Royal Me. Thus, as I say, the belt was stolen. Years later, thinking the belt might be glad to see me, I paid a visit to Princess Ozma in the Emerald City. You might think I would be greeted with a certain abashedness and apology; but you would be wrong. They used their magical arts to steal what little I had left to me—my memory—even my very name. I was let loose to wander about, picking up a new name, Ruggedo, along the way. Fortunately the enchantment wore off, though the name has stuck; and so I returned to my kingdom."

"You were still king, though," Junipee observed, "so it wasn’t as bad as it might have been."

Ruggedo nodded. "That is true, but even this small kindness was only temporary. Some years later another girl, Betsy, appeared in my kingdom along with a ferocious mule named Hank, and another army, and also Tik-Tok, who had been conspiring with the Oz people between-times. They kicked me out, they did, and gave my kingship to my dullwitted assistant Kaliko."

Junipee gave Ruggedo a look of skepticism, which came naturally to her. "If this Kaliko is still King of the Nomes, he must be a sight smarter than you’re letting on."

The former Nome King grew sulky. "Those Oz people gave him many unfair advantages. They stole my memories again, for one thing; and by the time the memories began to return, I was already established here in the pebble and rock business."

Stot laughed. "You can’t make money sellin’ stuff like that!"

"No, you can’t," conceded Ruggedo. "But fortunately money is not used in Oz, where people are free to do whatever they wish, so long as it is of some use. Many people can use pebbles and rocks—in a rock garden, for example, or to keep people off a bathing beach. But in conclusion, I ask you—have I not been treated most cruelly?"

"Very most!" Stot exclaimed. "If I see that Ozmer, I’ll hit her!"

"Thank you," sniffed the former Nome King.

"Now that we’ve listened to your story, won’t you help us, please?" asked Junipee. "It’s not that we like New York so much, but it’s the only home we remember; and even if the lady who takes care of us isn’t our mother, she’s someone."

Stot wrinkled up his forehead. "She makes us go to school!"

"Does she now?" exclaimed Ruggedo in sympathy. "My only schooling came in the School of Hard Rocks. That, and life in general."

"Please don’t change the subject, Mr. Ruggedo!" Junipee demanded. "If you’re not going to help us, we’ll just have to go on our way."

The former Nome King rose to his feet, delicately brushing pebbles from his round body as if they were bread crumbs. "I don’t know that I can help you, my dear," he said. "But if you’ll consent to stay a while, we might ask the Pillar of Truth."

"I don’t know," Junipee replied suspiciously. "What kind of a person is this ‘pillar’?"

Ruggedo shone forth his smile, which was hard as a band of polished metal. "The Pillar of Truth is not a person, but a thing—made all of stone. He lives underground, in a further branch of this very cave in which we stand. It was because I knew he resided somewhere hereabouts that I first came here to live these many years ago, and just this very morning I broke through into his hidden cavern. Follow me, and I will introduce you to him."

He didn’t wait for Junipee to agree, but turned about and marched across his round room to a part that was especially gloomy. There the children noticed for the first time a narrow crack in the wall that ran from floor to ceiling. The Nome King—so we shall call him—walked right up to the crack, and its sides seem to melt back so that he could just fit through it. "Come along, little clodlings," he called back to Junipee and Stot. Curious, they could not help but follow after him.

The crack continued for quite a ways, just exactly wide enough to walk through one by one. Then it open up into another cave, a wild one, that slanted downward. Junipee thought that it should have been perfectly dark, but it wasn’t, for some of the rocks here and there were giving forth a timid milky light, which their eyes grew accustomed to after a time. Ruggedo had left them on.

The three of them wound their way down and down, strolling along at a gentle pace. Presently the Nome King stopped. "There," said he. "There is the Pillar of Truth."

They were in a big, long open space which would have been shaped like a loaf of bread if it had been filled with bread instead of air. There were twisty fingers of rock all around, hanging down from the ceiling and rising up from the floor, all of them looking like ice cream cones of the sort only a Nome might enjoy. "Tights an’ mites!" whispered little Stot.

Before them in the middle of the space was a column of white stone which joined to both floor and ceiling and was very narrow in the middle. It had sparkly specks all over it, and places where it seemed the stone had run like wax on a candle. Just above the narrow part, a little higher than the Nome King’s head, the combination of ups and downs on the surface of the column seemed to look, in the dim light, very much like a face, the pinched face of an old old man. Where the eyes should have been there were set two colored gems of rough shape which had a glow to them. Above these crystalline eyes were jutting shards of rock which looked like eyelids; and as Junipee stared at them, the eyelids raised up with a dragging-rock sound and the eyes looked at her.

"Oh!" she cried out in surprise.

"You needn’t be afraid, child," said Ruggedo. "The Pillar of Truth cannot move about. He has stood there for a million million years, and there he will remain until the earth falls to pieces."

"Do you mind it?" asked Stot of the Pillar.

The Pillar of Truth creaked open a stone mouth, causing streams of dust to rain down upon the floor of the cave. "You ask, and I answer I do not mind it, for I do not have a mind to mind it with," the Pillar responded in a voice as hollow as an echo.

Stot smiled. "That’s good."

"These children of the surface world, who are called Stot and Junipee, wish to know how to return to a place called New York, in the United States of America," Ruggedo declared. "Will you answer their question?"

Said the Pillar, "You ask, and I answer I will, for I can do nothing but give true answers to whatever questions are posed to me."

Junipee waited, expecting more to come; but there was nothing more. She looked at the Nome King. "Do I have to do something to make him work?"

"You must ask your question," said Ruggedo. "I only asked if he would answer you, that’s all."

"All right." She faced the Pillar squarely. "Tell us how to get back to New York."

Still, there was only silence. Stot tugged on her sleeve. "Junipee, that wasn’t a question!"

"How will we get back to New York?" she asked.

"You ask and I answer, by travelling with the Nome King, for he knows the earth inside out and can lead you to any place lower than the sky," was the reply.

"Ah! Well!" cried the old Nome King in surprise. "I had not expected this!" Then he asked, "Tell me, Pillar of Truth, where shall I go from here in order to achieve my great design, which is to reclaim my rightful position in my underground dominions?"

The children turned to the Pillar of Truth expectantly. And it said: "You ask, and I answer, go down deep into the earth and take from the Queen of the Mangaboos her Colorless Gloves, for they will confer the power required."

"A Queen!" Stot cheered. "Goshowee-gosh!"




 

In The Emerald Palace of Ozma

The emerald palace of Ozma is a fine place. It looks as grand as can be, which is just as a palace ought to look. It has many high spires, visible for miles, upon which colorful banners flutter gaily in the breeze. At its center is a great round dome, which encloses Ozma’s huge throne room and chamber of audience; and a number of lesser domes spread out from this center all around. The palace building is surrounded by a green park, full of graceful trees and sparkling fountains, which is enclosed in turn by a low wall of green stonework.

A number of curious characters have made their homes within the grounds of the palace. There is a Patchwork Girl, a Shaggy Man, and (as has been mentioned) a clockwork metal man named Tik-Tok. There are also a number of notable personages of more common appearance, including Dorothy Gale of Kansas, a girl named Trot and her friend Cap’n Bill, and another little girl named Betsy Bobbin. And one cannot forebear mentioning yet another American, the little Wizard of Oz himself, who was born a long time ago in the state of Nebraska.

Some of the palace’s inhabitants are animals of one sort or another. Of the feline sort there are four examples, two large and two small. The large beasts are a Cowardly Lion and a Hungry Tiger. As to the smaller cats, one of them is Eureka the Pink Kitten, who is Dorothy’s pet. The other is made entirely of glass, except for her two emerald eyes, her hard ruby heart, and her brains, which are a little bunch of pink marbles that roll around amongst themselves when she bothers to think. This creature is the famous Glass Cat of Oz, and her personal name (much to her regret) is Bungle.

Now cats don’t generally get along as it is. So much the worse, then, when one is of meat and the other of the mineral kingdom—if you wish to call glass a kind of mineral. Eureka and Bungle did not exactly hate one another, for it is a very difficult thing to hate in the Land of Oz, and cats are notoriously lazy. But there was a rivalry between them. They liked to tease one another, and their cutting remarks illustrated the origin of the word "catty."

One morning both felines were present, ignoring one another, in the great Throne Room while the Wizard of Oz made a demonstration of a new invention of his—for he was quite a tinkerer.

"I call this my Little Wizard Patented Health Lamp," said the Wizard, gesturing grandly at the object he had placed upon a small round-topped table in the middle of the room. It looked like a big glass electric lightbulb, with a globe the size of a cantaloup.

"I wouldn’t ’zackly call it little, Wizard," remarked Dorothy, who was one of the onlookers.

"And mind you, I don’t know lawyer-talk," added Cap’n Bill, an old retired seaman with a wooden leg, "but it seems t’me you can’t call something patented unless you reg’ster it with the U.S. Patent Orfice—can you?"

"Ah well!" cried the Wizard in his theatrical way. "You have failed to distinguish between adjective and noun, my friends. ‘Little Wizard’ and ‘Patented’ are merely parts of its name, not of its description. They are traditional terms applied to new inventions of some use to mankind."

"Of what use is your Lamp, Wizard?" inquired Princess Ozma of Oz from her royal throne. "Our Emerald City is already equipped with electric lighting, and the lightbulbs never wear out."

"True," he replied. "But this is a Health Lamp, you see. Its inner filament, when animated by a current of pure wizardrous force, gives forth a marvelous light that heals all wounds, salves the broken heart, lifts the spirit, and induces an attractive sun-tan."

"Those are wonderful claims," said Ozma with a smile.

"And I am known as a wonderful wizard," said he. "And that is no humbug, these days."

"You always talk a dreadful amount, sir," said the Hungry Tiger, a great beast with a body as big as a horse’s. "But do hurry-up your demonstration, as it has been more than an hour since breakfast and I grow nervous and weak."

Dorothy held nestled in her arms a furry little bundle with a pointy snout, which now wiggled. "Mistress," said Toto quietly, "do you mind if I leave?"

"Oh Toto, don’t you want to see the Wizard’s show?"

"Not especially," said the dog. "And I have an appointment with one of the piglets to play a game of checkers."

Dorothy whispered in his ear, "But really, we shouldn’t disappoint the Wizard."

"Yes, I know," he whispered back with just the slightest whine. "But I can’t give any decent sort of applause, not with my padded paws. Besides, the two cats are here, and they are sure to start in caterwauling; and it makes me nervous." So she let him down, and he padded from the room.

The Wizard bowed to the tiger and his ever-present hunger, and then to Ozma; and then, smiling, he pointed a pudgy finger and dramatically speared a button on the table-top. But nothing happened.

"If that’s light," Dorothy said, "I sure couldn’t read by it."

"Maybe you forgot to plug it in," suggested little Betsy Bobbin.

"It does not require being plugged," the Wizard responded, "as it is not a bath-tub. I can’t understand—no, I have it!" He made a small adjustment at the porcelain base, which the bulb was screwed into. "Now to try again," he said, and, in an absent-minded way, tapped a finger against the globe.

The result of this tiny tap was catastrophic. The globe lit up brightly with a purple-and-green light, which swept across the throne room like a wave. Then the great bulb shattered into tiny pieces.

"Oh dear!" cried the Wizard, and everyone gasped—not because the invention was destroyed, but because of what was happening all around.

The people were shrinking! They were not shrinking too terribly fast, it is true, and—luckily—their clothing was shrinking too. But there was no doubt at all that they had commenced to become smaller, even the artificial people, namely Tik-Tok the Machine Man.

"Mizzen me tussle!" exclaimed Cap’n Bill. "Do somethin’, Wizard, afore I wind up smaller than my peg-leg!"

But the Wizard could only gesture helplessly toward the table, the top of which he could no longer reach. "I can’t reverse the effect, for the lamp is destroyed," he said. "And as for doing anything by wizardry, my bag of magical instruments is in my room."

"There is our help, I ob-serve," said Tik-Tok, pointing with his skinny metal arm. Ozma, who was now no bigger than a lap-dog, stood nobley upon the seat of her throne. In her hand she held the silver wand that she always kept upon her person, secreted in a special pocket in her gown. She made several passes with the wand, which responded to her own natural fairy-magic; and when the last gesture was completed, everyone could feel that some change had come over them. They were still shrinking, but not so rapidly now. The shrinking became slower, slower, and finally stopped altogether.

"Thank goodness!" cried Princess Dorothy.

"You may say ‘thank goodness’," complained the once-huge Cowardly Lion, "but look at us!" He was now about as big as a gnat, and those who had been of human size were no bigger than the tiny raspberry seeds that you pick out from between your teeth.

Ozma had walked over to the edge of her throne, which was quite a walk. She looked down at her much-reduced subjects as if from a high cliff. "I tried to restore you," she called down at the top of her lungs, "but it seems my magic has been diminished along with my size!" She stepped off the throne and, grasping the silver wand, drifted gently down to the polished floor.

"Al-though I am small-er," noted Tik-Tok in his mechanical monotone, "I am hap-py to say my think-ing works are o-ther-wise un-af-fect-ed."

"Then what do you think?" asked Tiny Trot, who now really was tiny.

"Some-one must go to Glin-da, whose sor-cer-y re-mains ver-y pow-er-ful," answered Tik-Tok. "I will go my-self if you wish, Your Ma-jes-ty."

"No," said Ozma, "for though you are steadfast, strong, and mechanically perfect, you are now so small that the journey would be weeks of walking."

"And my ac-tion will wind down be-fore I e-ven reached the ci-ty gates," Tik-Tok commented.

"My dear, perhaps you can contact Glinda by means of your wand," the Wizard urged.

"It’s better than a wireless," added the Shaggy Man, who knew something about radio.

"I have been trying, but the wand is now much too weak," Ozma said.

"I beg your pardon if I’ve overlooked something obvious; in which case I am prepared to be embarrassed," said the Shaggy Man. "But why couldn’t we send one of them with a message?"

The Shaggy Man was looking at the Glass Cat and the Pink Kitten. For some reason, yet unexplained, they were the only two creatures present who had not been affected by the Wizard’s Health Lamp.

The Glass Cat, who had flattened down upon the floor in order to hear the tiny people talk, now spoke. "That idea is plausible, at least," she said indifferently. "But you have not yet asked whether I would consent to this imposition upon my time. I had already made plans for this afternoon, you know, and it is rather much to expect me to rearrange my schedule at a moment’s notice."

"Aaa, you might as well give up on that Glass Cat," growled Cap’n Bill. "Nothin’ will do t’warm up that cold hard heart o’ hers."

"He’s right, Ozma," said Dorothy. "Eureka may be a little saucy now and then, but she knows how to mind—when she has to."

"Thank you, mistress," purred the Pink Kitten. "It is transparently true that Bungle, with her marble brains, is certain to botch any assignment given her."

At this comment the Glass Cat hissed like a punctured tire. "What cheek!" she muttered indignantly, stalking from the room.

"It is settled, then," said Princess Ozma.

After further discussion and instruction, Eureka set forth upon her mission, slinking her way through the corridors of the palace and out into the grounds. She was passing a tree, and beginning to pick up speed, when she was startled by a thud just behind her. Spinning about she beheld Bungle the Glass Cat standing with a vexed expression upon her face.

"What do you want?" asked Eureka impatiently. "I can’t be bothered with you now; I am on assignment."

"Don’t be high-tailed with me," said Bungle. "I am here to help you, you silly muncher of mice."

Eureka sniffed proudly. "I do not require help. This is a job for a true American-born cat, not a four-legged window-pane such as yourself."

"I suppose, then, you are going south, to the Quadling country, where Glinda’s castle is."

"Of course."

"Then it is you who will botch the assignment," said Bungle, licking her unmoveable glass fur with her glass tongue, which made a tinkling sound; "for I happen to know Glinda is not at home today."

The Pink Kitten’s eyes narrowed to slits. "Where is she, then?"

"Oh, now you wish to talk. Well, just this morning, during my patrol of the city, I happened upon the editor of the daily newspaper, who was engaged in informing his printing-press of the news of the day. I heard him mention that Glinda the Good had gone off in her swan-chariot to the Country of the Winkies to assist the Tin Woodman in his Tin Castle. You should be able to catch her there—if you hurry your little pink paws."

Eureka considered this in silent suspicion for a moment. Then, with a leap, she was off and away at top speed. Bungle noted, smugly, that she was heading west, toward the Winkie Country, not south to the land of the Quadlings. "Serves her right, gullible thing," said the Glass Cat to herself. Of course Bungle’s news had been a lie through and through. It was her plan—not very thoroughly thought-out—to win the praise of the others by carrying out the mission to Glinda the Good herself.

Off she ran, southward, easily scaling the high wall that surrounds the City of Emeralds and dashing across the fields of grass which in that central part of Oz were, strangely enough, green. She crossed the narrow stretch of farmland, and saw before her the red-hued meadows that announce the borders of the Quadling Country. That at least is what she expected to see and ought to have seen. But what she really saw, but did not pause to consider, was a great deal of purple—as if she had gone north and not south.

Suddenly, Bungle stopped running. Indeed, she stopped running so abruptly and completely that she flipped head-over-heels, rolling ten times in the long grass before she finally lay down flat, unable to wiggle a single glass toe.

The Capture of a Cat

Ruggedo smiled his smile, but shook his head. "Alas, I no longer have the power to travel such a distance, which would take us straight through the earth. I believe, though, that the Pillar of Truth is suggesting a means whereby I might regain my Magic Belt, which will not only allow me to return to the Underground Kingdom, but also to send you wherever you wish. Isn’t that right, Pillar?"

Said the Pillar of Truth, "You ask, and I answer Yes, that is right, for that is indeed what you believe."

"You see?" pronounced the Nome King. "And the Pillar of Truth cannot lie."

"All right, but what about that place and that queen?" Junipee persisted.

"Mangaboo?" Ruggedo scratched the side of his head with his hand, making a sound like two pieces of flint trying to strike a spark. "I’ve heard of it, for it is part of the underground world that I am in charge of, by rights. But I don’t recall the details, nor do I know in what direction it lies—except downward."

"I know!" piped Stot excitedly. "We can ask the big rock!" He approached the Pillar of Truth and asked, "How can we find that Magnanga place you talked about, the one with the queen?"

"You ask, and I answer, By being led by the cat Eureka, the pet of Princess Dorothy, for she once was in Mangaboo and knows the way back by instinct and memory."

The old Nome King did not like this answer. His dealings with Dorothy and her patroness Ozma had brought him nothing but trouble in his life. "I see," he said rather sourly. "There must be another way." But the Pillar was silent—as no question had been asked.

Ruggedo now was anxious to leave the presence of the Pillar of Truth, though there were many other questions that he might have found useful to ask. He quickly herded the children back up to his private cave-dwelling.

"It seems we are destined to be useful to one another, children," he said. "If I understand what the Pillar of Truth has so subtly implied, it is somehow necessary that I have you with me to get what I need from the Queen of the Mangaboos, just as my recapture of my belt is necessary to you, in order to send you home."

"We’ll go if we have to," replied Junipee. "But remember, we’re just people, not some of your Nomes. We can’t live underground—we need real air and food."

"Yes, yes," Ruggedo responded impatiently. "Let us not dilly-dally here with the Gillikins, for we must make our way to the Emerald City to find this fool cat of Dorothy’s."

"Have you met it?" inquired Stot.

"No, for she didn’t have it with her when she first came into my Dominions, only that horrible chicken, Billina." The Nome King pronounced chicken as if it were a curse. "I have been to the palace of Ozma on subsequent occasions, but don’t recall seeing a cat there."

Stot asked gravely, "Do you know what a cat looks like? We have them in New York, but they don’t live in the ground, like you do."

"Of course I know!" retorted Ruggedo with dignity. "They are like very large gophers, with tails that go back and forth."

"That’s not very good," said Junipee; "but I guess I can help you keep a look-out."

The three got underway immediately, heading southward toward the Emerald City. They walked along at an easy pace through most of three days. The Nome King proved a taciturn companion, saying very little and eyeing everything and everyone with an attitude of wariness and disdain. They walked between low hills, and through the Great Dark Gillikin Forest, following trails, some of which were paved, though most were not. There were no settlements of people along the way, but now and then they came upon a lonely farmhouse or forest dwelling, and the Gillikins within were courteous and glad to provide food, though Ruggedo could only eat of strange minerals and rocky things, which he had to sift out of the ground himself.

Finally came the morning upon which they rounded the bend of a forest trail and beheld, far ahead in the distance, a lovely green glow that seemed to fill the sky.

"I remember that," the Nome King remarked in a jovial tone. "The Emerald City is made of real emeralds of all sizes and shapes, and it is their reflection we see. We are getting near."

"What will we do when we get there?" asked Junipee, her breath somewhat taken away by the beauty of the shining sky. "Will we find Dorothy and ask to borrow her cat?"

"Bah! Certainly not; that is bad strategy, my girl," answered the Nome. "If we ask, she will turn us down, for she is wicked and hates me—and will surely hate the two of you as well, for being my companions. I have though of a different plan."

He withdrew from his vest pocket a small round stone, which was flat on opposite sides.

"Bet I know what that is!" Stot cried happily. "It’s your tell-us-stone!"

"No," the Nome King replied. "It is my spyglass: to be precise, my tell-on-scope."

"Do you mean a telescope?" Junipee asked.

"I mean exactly what I say, child," Ruggedo said brusquely. "It is an invention of the Nomes which tells on whoever you are thinking about, by showing them to you."

Stot nodded as if he understood. "Uh-huh—like a tattle-tale."

"Exactly like," Ruggedo confirmed. "For example, let us be fore-warned by looking in upon Ozma." He held the stone so Junipee and Stot could also see. On one of the flat sides they could make out the image of a beautiful young girl with raven-dark hair and a gleaming crown upon her head.

"She’s so pretty!" Stot declared.

"You may think so; but she has a wicked heart, which the tell-on-scope stone is powerless to reveal."

They looked in upon several others. Finally Ruggedo was satisfied that they were unaware of the presence of their old enemy. "They are all occupied with something," he commented. "Some nonsense of that Wizard fellow they esteem so highly, for they are gathered together around him. Perhaps we can sneak up on the palace undetected."

"But where is the cat, Eureka?" Junipee demanded. "We ought to find that out first, you know."

"I suppose you are right," the Nome King conceded with a scowl (for he did not like to be contradicted). "I have never heard of there being but one cat of the plain sort in all Oz, so if—" But he did not need to finish his sentence, for when he mentioned one cat, the image of a cat appeared in the stone. "Ah, there is our cat!"

"That’s not a real cat!" Stot laughed. Then he added soberly: "Is it?"

"It’s a glass statue," said Junipee. "But it’s moving!"

"That is the form cats take in this fairyland," observed the Nome King sagely, pretending he knew what he was talking about—which he did not. That cat was of course not Eureka the Pink Kitten at all, but Bungle the Glass Cat, and they were looking in upon her at the moment she was leaving the grounds of Ozma’s royal palace on her mission to Glinda the Good.

"Now this is a right fine development, children," said the Nome King with pleasure. "As the creature is made of glass, and thus part of the kingdom of crystals and minerals, she is mine to command; or at least her body is."

Junipee asked, "Can you bring her here to us?"

"I can indeed," Ruggedo said, putting his stone back in its pocket. "I cannot bring her quite all-at-once, for she is still some distance away. But I can give her many little pushes, each one too slight to be felt, which will steer her in our direction without arousing any resistance in her." His put his fingers up to the rocky outcropping of his brow and concentrated mightily for a good length of time. Then at last he said, "She is near! I feel it!"

They hid themselves behind some bushes, and soon caught a glimpse of sunlight on glass. Ruggedo concentrated again, and now that Bungle was very close-by his force was strong enough to freeze her glass muscles and bring her to a tumbling halt almost at their feet.

"That was cool!" Stot cried. "But I’m glad you can’t do it to people."

"Let us see what she has to say for herself," said the Nome King, smugly satisfied.

They walked over to where Bungle lay flat in the grass, and Ruggedo bent down low. "Good morning," said he, pleasantly.

"If it is good for you, congratulations," Bungle replied with a catlike growl. "As for me, I’d just as soon give it back. Something has tripped me up."

Ruggedo clucked his tongue. "Yes, I apologize for that. I am responsible. If you promise not to run off, I will let you up."

The Glass Cat snarled but said, "I promise."

"And do you promise to keep your promise?"

"I do." And immediately Bungle found herself able to stand and move again. She stretched as cats do, even glass ones, and said, "All right. What do you want, you human stonework?"

"The matter is of the gravest importance," said Ruggedo. "It can only be entrusted to someone of your renowned cleverness—for the whole world has heard of Princess Dorothy’s precious pet Eureka."

"Ah. Yes," purred Bungle, quite unable to resist continuing the mistake. "Well, as you have interrupted my morning run, and it cannot be undone, perhaps I shall hear you out."

"Why are you glass?" Stot blurted out.

This gave pause to Bungle, for she did not care to reveal that she was not the esteemed Eureka after all. "That makes for a nice story," she said. "I once was an ordinary sort of cat, you know—from America in the great outside world. But Princess Ozma made my mistress, Dorothy, a princess too; and so a plain fluffy cat just wouldn’t do for her. Ozma used a magical thing she owns, a belt, to transform me into what you see before you, an exalted being of fine crystal suitable to consort with royalty."

"What are those colored things inside you?" Junipee then inquired. "Something you ate for breakfast?"

"Indeed not," said Bungle scornfully. "The ruby item is my fine heart, and the collection of pink balls is in truth my brains. You can see ’em work, you know. I don’t mind if you stare."

"We have more important subjects of which to speak than your body-parts," the Nome King declared. "We are in need of a guide to show us the way to the underground kingdom of Mangaboo, and are informed that you, madam, are able to perform that necessary duty."

"I can indeed," lied the Glass Cat. "I know the way very well. But why should I assist you?"

"So we can get back home," Junipee said.

"Oh?" responded the cat. "Are you Mangaboos, then?"

"Nope!" giggled Stot. "We’re New Yorkers."

"The explanation is quite long and tiresome," said Ruggedo shrewdly. "There is no need for you to bother with it. Suffice it to say, our need is great and our cause is just."

Bungle snorted. "Just what?"

"Just just."

"You will help us, won’t you?" pled Junipee.

The Glass Cat looked away. "I may consider it—when I am back around these parts again."

"That won’t do, I fear." This pronouncement was Ruggedo’s, and his voice had become as ominous as a storm cloud. He picked up a rock from the ground, and set it upon a tree-stump nearby. "Do you see it?"

He raised his hand to his face and made an "O" with his thumb and forefinger. He held it before his right eye, and stared a fierce stare through the hole, looking directly at the rock.

There was a sharp sound like a shot, and the rock fell apart into two pieces.

"You might as well know now, madam cat, that I am Ruggedo the Nome King," he said. "Yes—and I have great power over the things of the ground, such as the crystalline substance making you up. If you do not grant the favor we have asked, I will shatter you. Of course, this being Oz, you will not be dead; but as a pile of pieces your enjoyment of life will be much impaired. Now, let us be off before your Dorothy and my nemesis Ozma come out to ruin things for me."

Bungle had no idea in which direction to go, for she had never heard of Mangaboo in her life. But the Nome King’s threat weighed upon her (especially her vanity), and so she darted off in a direction chosen for no reason at all.

"Halt!" cried Ruggedo. "Where are you going?"

The Glass Cat crept back and said, "I believe it is east."

"Little as I know of Mangaboo, I do know that it is close to, though well beneath, my own kingdom," the Nome said darkly. "And thus we must begin by going westward."

"I can see you know little of how to start a proper journey in Oz," retorted Bungle, her brains churning furiously. "One must take a few steps the opposite way, and then turn around: elsewise the route will become as circuitous as a corkscrew."

"That’s right!" Stot exclaimed. "The farmer wanted us to go in two directions to get to your hole, Mr. King."

Ruggedo looked doubtful indeed, but raised no protest as the little party zig-zagged and then commenced a trek to the west.

They left the green middle country of Oz very quickly, for it is of no great extent, and entered the Country of the Winkies, where the color yellow is favored. This unsettled Bungle, for she had no wish to run across the real Eureka, who no doubt would be put out with her. But there was no way around it.

They walked on for several hours, first through fields, then through forest. At noon they stopped at a Winkie cottage, and Junipee and Stot were given lunch while Ruggedo and the Glass Cat waited outside.

"I cannot stand to be still," said Bungle, "for it is contrary to my cat-nature. We must prowl about, except when we are dozing."

"Go, then; but if you are too long away—remember what I can do to you," was the Nome’s curt reply, as he gnawed a tart piece of fine granite.

Bungle slinked away into the underbrush. When she was out of sight, she began to hunt with her sharp emerald eyes, and soon enough she found what she was seeking, a tiny brown mouse. She caught it between her two paws, which—as they were perfectly clear—made it seem that the mouse was imprisoned in a glass jar.

"Good day, crystal thing," cried the mouse politely. "I like sport as much as anyone, but I have to tell you I am in something of a hurry just at present." He was not in the least afraid—for this was Oz, after all.

"I will let you go right away," said the cat. "But first, allow me to trouble you for some information."

"Of course."

"Good. It occurs to me that, as you are a mouse and have your ear to the ground even when standing up, you might be able to direct me to a certain place called Mangaboo."

"Mangaboo!" the mouse exclaimed with something like a laugh. "Why would anyone want to go there?"

"Kindly mind your business," snapped Bungle. "Do you know the way?"

The mouse nodded, his ears flopping. "I am acquainted with a family of earthworms, and they tell me of many things underground, in detail—too much detail, sometimes; it’s not as interesting as they suppose it to be, but you know what earthworms are like."

"And you remember the details?"

"Indeed," the other answered, "for I am a mouse, you know, and there is a reason why the scientists of the world choose us above all others to run their mazes. My memory is excellent. The question is whether you will remember all I say."

The Glass Cat sighed. She did not often sigh, for it was difficult for her, having no lungs and no hollow in her glass throat. "As a cat, I am lazy and languid, and I do not care for the effort of remembering. But if it is absolutely necessary, the pink brains, which you see before you, can retain almost anything. So go ahead."

The mouse then provided the directions. When he had finished, and was about to scurry off, he added: "By the way, I hope you know that all this is on the other side of the Deadly Desert. The earthworms are not bothered, for they can go beneath it. But the sands are destructive of life, and though you are not made of meat, you seem to be alive; so it might not go well for you."

"Another problem to occupy my mind," Bungle said in disgust. "Let old Ruggedo figure something out. But how I wish that foolish Pink Kitten had outsmarted me at the start!"

The Mouse Republic

Trot nodded and smiled. "But we always get through our adventures all right—and we have Ozma and ever’one with us, so the good’s sure to outweigh the bad."

"Your confidence quite inspires me," remarked the little Wizard warmly. "Had I my Black Bag, I’m sure I could return us all to our customary magnitudities in the blink of an eye."

"And if I had my old Love Magnet in my pocket, we’d surely love this size that’s come upon us," the Shaggy Man added, his eyes a-twinkle. "But you don’t and I don’t, Wizard, so it seems we’ll just have to bear up under it."

"Why, it’s not so bad t’be a diff’rent size, you know," Dorothy declared. "It doesn’t seem to hurt at all."

"But there are some plain disadvantages, and—coward that I am—I cannot help but worry about them," said the Cowardly Lion. "We might trip over our own shadows, for example; for though a shadow’s thickness may be disregarded by a person of normal size, we are no bigger than a bug’s ear at present."

"It doesn’t really worry you, does it, Lion?" asked Dorothy with a dainty laugh.

"Not really," he admitted. "But only because my natural cowardice is as small as I am."

"I think we have no reason for concern," advised Ozma. "When Glinda hears of all this from the Pink Kitten, she will consult her books of magical recipes and put something together to restore us. Eureka can move swiftly; perhaps it will only be a few hours before she reaches Glinda’s castle."

At that moment the royal party, all gathered together at one spot on the floor before Ozma’s throne, heard a sound, then another, then another—like the boom of distant thunder. "What’s that?" cried Betsy Bobbin.

"I re-cog-nize those sounds," answered Tik-Tok, "for I have heard them ma-ny times, as have you all. It is on-ly the sound of foot-steps up-on the tiled floor of the throne room."

"Footsteps? Seems they ought to be attached to someone’s feet," Cap’n Bill commented. "I see no-one, though."

"But perhaps we are too small, and too close to the floor, to see off into the distance," the Wizard said. "The other side of the room is miles away, in a manner of speaking—for that is how it is for us."

The rhythmic booming continued, and made everyone nervous. "I do wish it would stop!" said Trot.

Tik-Tok, who had been attending carefully, now spoke up again. "My me-chan-i-cal eyes are all of brass and o-ther fine me-tals, and they func-tion ex-ceed-ing-ly well when I am pro-per-ly wound. I can make out that it is Jel-li-a Jamb who has en-tered this room."

"She has come in to clean, for it is that time of morning," Ozma said. "That may present a danger to us. She will go over the whole floor with her mop."

"I have always regarded an excess of cleanliness to be a grave danger indeed," remarked the Shaggy Man.

"Bein’ clean ain’t the danger s’much as bein’ squashed flat under her big feet, or swished away by her mop," said Cap’n Bill. "I say we cut anchor and find us a hidin’ place. Seems we haven’t a hope o’ makin’ contact with a little girl big as th’ Rock o’ Gibraltar."

The Hungry Tiger, who had padded away from the group for a minute in search of something to slake his ever-present hunger, now came bounding back, just in time to hear what Cap’n Bill was saying. "If what is needed is a place to hide, I’ve found one."

"What have you found?" asked Ozma.

"It’s a big ditch," he replied; "and I must say, Excellent Princess, I am rather surprised to find such a thing in your throne room."

They all hastened to follow the striped beast, as the menacing sounds of Jellia Jamb, and what might have been her mop, were growing nearer. Soon they came to the edge of a great furrow, about twelve feet wide and half as much deep (so it seemed to them), running off out of sight to the right and the left, in a straight line.

"My!" said Dorothy. "I’ve never noticed this before."

"But of course you have, Dorothy," admonished the Wizard indulgently. "I do believe it’s just one of the many cracks between the square tiles with which the floor is paved."

"Step off the edge, everyone, and my wand will help you down to the bottom," Ozma said.

Soon they were all standing in a row in the narrow flat space at the bottom of the crevice, between the sloping sides. "That’s better," observed Betsy. "Even if Jellia steps right on top of us, her shoes’ll just make a roof to the ditch."

"Now this is somethin’," said Cap’n Bill, taking the pipe from his mouth and bending over. "I’d say somethin’ has rubbed along the bottom of this crack. Along the sides, too." They all looked, and indeed it seemed that parts of the surface had been rubbed smooth by large objects passing along it, perhaps over and over.

"Oh, let’s follow the trail!" Trot exclaimed, and before anyone could reply she had run off. So there was nothing to do but follow after her.

They caught up with Trot soon enough but continued to stroll along single-file, for even Ozma and the fretful Cowardly Lion were anxious to discover if there were any secret inhabitants in the throne room.

"They’d have to be awful small, though," said Dorothy.

"We’re small ourselves, do remember," retorted the Shaggy Man. "They may be more than we can handle."

Ozma said, "I believe I still have enough magic to ward off danger—and there are the Lion and the Tiger as well. So I intend to go on; I think it’s my duty, you know."

"I al-so am a fierce fight-er," added Tik-Tok. "I am ne-ver trou-bled by me-tal fa-tigue."

They trekked on for more than an hour, passing a number of intersections where the edges of other tiles crossed their route. But the Wizard pointed out that these other cracks showed no sign of use, so the little expedition continued straight on.

Eventually Dorothy said, "Look, it’s all bright up ahead, just like when the sky is all filled up with white clouds."

"I’d venture that we are approaching the wall of the throne room," suggested the Shaggy Man.

"It’s not all bright, you know," Trot observed. "The crack is headin’ right at something dark." And so it was. The darkness was as big to them as a movie screen would be to us. It had fairly even, straight sides, and a rounded top like an arch.

"Why, it’s a mouse hole in the wall!" said little Dorothy. "Ozma, you should have set out some mousetraps."

"As if I would deliberately do such a thing to a poor tiny creature!" protested the dainty princess of Oz.

"But after all, they can’t die."

"Perhaps not," Ozma replied; "but it would annoy them. Remember, they are my subjects just as much as anyone. In fact, I ought to meet with them, to find out if there is anything I can do to make them happy, as we share houses, it seems."

"Worryin’ about the happiness o’ the mice!" grumbled Cap’n Bill. "That’s fairyland for you."

They marched on under the archway and into a deep darkness. Ozma withdrew her wand and caused it to produce a gentle emerald light, which was sufficient to allow them to see their way forward.

"I don’t believe I ever anticipated being shut up inside a wall," the Hungry Tiger muttered. "If there are fat babies here to be eaten, they will be mouse-babies, and that’s no delicacy to a tiger." But he kept his growly voice very low, for he knew Princess Ozma would never countenance the idea.

"Now it seems to me there is a further mystery about all this," commented the Wizard thoughtfully. "Mice are very small, but even the tiniest mouse could never have made his way along a crack between floor tiles."

"I’ve been having a thought on that matter myself," the Shaggy Man responded. "Perhaps it was just the very tips of their tails that dragged along inside the crack, which they must have used as a landmark to guide them home."

At that moment Ozma silenced them. "There is light up ahead!" She put out her wand, and they all could make out a faint white illumination which slowly grew brighter as they continued to walk. They passed through a space between some boards, which overhung above them like a great bridge, and found themselves looking out at a new wonder of the Land of Oz.

They beheld an open space that seemed (to them) to extend for miles; in fact, the further extent of it, even straight up above, was lost in shadow. Within this space was a city of tall buildings many stories in height, which seemed to be built of various odds and ends—twigs, bits of concrete, scraps of paper, tiny nails bigger than telephone poles, shreds of colored cloth, and all manner of cast-off things somehow fastened tightly together. The sides of the buildings had no windows: instead they were dotted by row after row of square doors, all of them uncovered. A ladder depended from each door, leading down to the ground.

The buildings were grouped about a sort of central square—though it was not so much square as round—and this square was crammed with thousands of people, people who happened to be mice, every one of them. Every other mouse appeared to be sitting down on the floor, the others standing between on their hind legs. The Wizard pointed out, in a low voice, that the seated mice all wore colorful scarves about their necks, while the standing mice wore little round collars, such as a dog might wear.

"They’re watching a show!" whispered Dorothy.

At the center of the public square was a raised platform strewn with banners, and on this platform stood two dignified mouse-men, waving their arms and exclaiming loudly—though it was not easy to make out the subjects—and now and then, it seemed, breaking into bits of song. The crowd of mice seemed to find this a moving performance altogether, as every now and then they broke into furies of applause, laughter, or cries of appreciation. The result was a continuous tumult.

"It is easy to guess what this is," commented the Wizard, "for I have seen many of them in my time. It is a political rally."

"Ah, yes indeedy," agreed the Shaggy Man; and Cap’n Bill was also seen to nod.

"It is e-vi-dent these pal-ace mice are or-gan-ized as a re-pub-lic, al-though they live un-der a mon-arch," Tik-Tok added. He then turned to Ozma and said, "They may not be hos-pi-ta-ble to o-ver-tures from Your High-ness."

"Nevertheless it is my duty to try," responded Ozma. "Let us see what happens as it happens, and not presume the worst."

"Mighty good advice, that," Cap’n Bill commented. "On t’other hand, I expect many a good ship has gone down in a storm, sailin’ under just that philosophy."

What the Ambassador Had to Say

"A cheery thought!" said the Hungry Tiger sarcastically.

"I can face any broom, even a giant one, in defense of my friends and my princess," declared the Cowardly Lion. "I will be trembling with fear, of course; but I shall do my duty."

"No one will need to face a broom, I think," said Ozma with a smile, "for I have had an idea. Wizard, though I am powerless to make any of us larger—not even as large as these mice—I wonder if I might not be able to enlarge our shadows, and let them represent us."

"But what good’ll our shadows do?" inquired Dorothy.

"I propose to animate them, to allow them to walk about like living things, and speak our own thoughts to the mice. And then, when the mice reply, the shadows will hear them with their big shadow-ears; and it never fails but that whatever is heard by the ears of your shadow is also heard straightway by you yourself."

The Wizard stroked his chin and nodded, and the Shaggy Man said, "I think you may have something there, Princess."

Ozma grasped her wand and concentrated. The shadows of each member of the little group, which were spread out upon the floor behind them, began to rise, like awakening people getting up in the morning. And as they rose, they expanded as well, very rapidly.

It was President Harcheevchack who first noticed the shadows, strange chunks of darkness moving about beyond the edge of the Common Herd, as the ordinary mouse-citizens of the Republic of Eroveechkeevna were known. He said the rest of his prepared speech very quickly, then pointed. "Citizens, we are visited by most peculiar creatures!" There was a hubbub of fear and curiosity, and the police cleared an open way for the shadows to use in approaching the platform.

"Please do not be alarmed!" cried the dainty shadow of Princess Ozma. "We are only harmless shadows, here to confer with your leaders in a peaceable manner."

"Then it’s all right," said the other mouse, Sorgheefdrock, who was also a President of the mouse republic. "We shall postpone this debate for a brief time. But I caution you, Mr. President—do not take advantage of this interruption to get any fresh ideas."

"Such a thing would not occur to me, Mr. President," retorted President Harcheevchack, "though it appears to have occurred to you."

One by one the various shadows climbed the seven steps up to the top of the platform, where the shadow of Ozma said, "Now then, to whom shall I address myself?"

"I represent the people," stated President Harcheevchack.

"As for me, I represent the persons," declared President Sorgheefdrock.

"Oh dear!" murmured the shadow of Ozma. She consulted with the shadow of the Wizard for a moment. Then she said: "I shall speak with the both of you with even hands and an equal footing. Or do you mind?"

"I like the even hands," said one President.

"I like the equal footing," said the other.

"Very well. She who is my source and origin—she who casts me—is Princess Ozma of Oz. Perhaps you are unaware that your city here is a part of Oz, and indeed lies within Ozma’s own royal palace. But she is—"

"Yes, yes, Ozma, rightful ruler, Emerald City and all that," said one or the other impatiently.

"We are well aware of political conditions among the Colossicans," added a different one or the other.

"We’re humans—or Ozites—but I’m sure we’re not C’losticians," said Dorothy with some indignation.

"Ah, but you are," retorted a President. "For that is what we call you semi-hairless giants of the Oversized World. What you choose to call yourselves is none of our business."

"And how is it your shadows are as small as we are?" a President inquired.

"Let us just say that we are now offered at cut-rate," was the Wizard’s reply to this question. He did not think it wise to go into the details.

"Then do I take it you already know of affairs in the Land of Oz?" asked the Ozma-shadow.

"Surely we do," said Sorgheefdrock; "for are we not mice? Do we not go everywhere, and overhear everything?"

The Cowardly Lion now mustered up the shadow of a threatening growl. "If that is so, then how comes it to be that you have not presented yourselves to your royal sovereign over all these many years, nor to Oz the Great and Terrible, who once held the throne and whose shadow now stands here before you?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Cap’n Bill pugnaciously. "How come?"

"I hope you are not so benighted as to believe that we, citizens and leaders of this great Republic of Eroveechkeevna, would come to grovel before the tyrant ruler of a monarchy!" declared one of the Presidents. "No offense, ma’am," he added.

"If we are now asking questions, I have another," said the Shaggy Man. "Where does all this fine light come from? Do you have electricity down here?"

"Are we not mice?" cried President Harcheevchack. "Are we not of the race which first invented that humble but clever servant the electron, the race which first electified its living spaces?"

"I really think it came out of Edison," the shadow of Dorothy pronounced. "And he was not a mouse, you know."

"Let us strive for a peaceful harmony of nations, whatever our historical views," urged the President called Sorgheefdrock. "It may well be time to establish relations of a diplomatic sort. We only wish to know that Ozma, as one of the line of absolute tyrants derived from the Original Original appointed by the fairy Lurline, does not wish to conquer and enslave us."

"I would never do such a thing!" exclaimed the shadow of Ozma. "By ‘I’ I mean ‘she,’ of course."

"Well, your word is good enough for us," said Harcheevchack. "You are known to be kindly and honest, for a tyrant."

There now commenced a discussion of life in the Rodential Republic of Eroveechkeevna. It developed that the mice were democratic in spirit and held elections frequently to decide all sorts of things. At present the question before the Common Herd was whether the incumbent First President, Harcheevchack, would be permitted to continue in that office, or would be turned out in favor of Sorgheefdrock, who was at present the Premier President.

Dorothy asked Harcheevchack what would become of him if he were voted out. "That won’t happen, of course," responded the mouse. "But if it does, by our laws I take over the office vacated by my rival Sorgheefdrock. I would then be Premier President."

"But what is the diff’rence between First Pres’dent and Premier Pres’dent?" inquired Trot (who had already guessed the answer).

"Difference? There is no difference at all; they are exactly equal-stequal, as we say," replied one or the other of them. "If one office were better than the other, no sane person would wish to hold the lesser of them and the whole system would collapse."

"Aye, that’s so," commented Cap’n Bill with a wink in Trot’s direction. "But why have the election at all?"

"Because we like elections," said Sorgheefdrock.

"We find them most stimulating," continued his rival. "Besides, we think they build civic feeling and good character."

"I always thought you mice had kings and queens," remarked the shadow of Princess Dorothy. "A long time ago, I met the Queen of the Field Mice, who was a great help to me and my friends."

Harcheevchack nodded. "Yes; and it must have been quite a time ago. Since those days, democratic revolution has swept through all the nations of mousekind. All are republics now—on this continent, at least. That queen of yours is long since deposed."

"Oh!" cried Dorothy. "That’s a shame."

"You needn’t feel sad for her," continued the President. "The citizens of the field mouse nation immediately elected her to the new office of Supreme President-For-Life and granted her absolute authority over everything. Really, it is just a change of title."

"Your be-tailed race has evolved into politicians of the most thoroughgoing variety," the Wizard-shadow commented. "And I do know what politicians are like, for I am related to the famous Nebraska politician William Jennings Bryan."

"I’ve heard of him," the Dorothy-shadow said, speaking on behalf of the real Dorothy. "How are you related?"

"We are second-cousins on his gardener’s side."

The party of shadows talked some more with the two presidents, and when there was a brief pause in the flow of speech Tik-Tok—that is, his shadow—asked, "Per-haps you will sat-is-fy my cur-i-o-si-ty, which is built in-to my thin-king ac-tion. Why are some of your cit-i-zens seat-ed and wear-ing scarves, while the o-thers are stan-ding and wear-ing col-lars?"

The two presidents exchanged glances of surprise. "Do you not have eyes, ball-shaped being?" demanded Sorgheefdrock. "Can you not see plainly that those in scarves are our females, and those in collars our males?"

"I did not no-tice that," replied the clockwork shadow.

"Why are your women all seated upon the ground?" inquired the Shaggy Man. "There are those who would call it a bit unseemly."

"They are all seated because the men are all standing," was Harcheevchack’s answer. "And if the females were to stand up, the men would have to sit down."

"I see," said the Shaggy Man; though in fact he did not.

"My goodness, I don’t!" exclaimed the shadow of Tiny Trot.

Both presidents looked at Trot with an expression bordering on pity. "You are young; perhaps you do not yet understand the way of things," Harcheevchack said. "Male and female are different, and the difference is an entirely sensible and deliberate one, planned and instituted by Nature. It follows logically that male and female must continue to be different in all respects. When one stands, the other sits. When one smiles, the other frowns. When one speaks, the other must be silent—and vice versa."

"Do you understand now, small Collosican?" inquired Sorgheefdrock. Trot was about to make what would probably have been taken as a rude retort. But there was an unexpected interruption.

A brown mouse was scurrying his way through the crowd toward the platform. He mounted the platform and bowed low to the two presidents. "I apologize for my tardiness, Your Electivities," said he. "I was held back for a time in the Winkie Country by an odd catlike creature made of crystal, who wished to ask questions."

Said the shadow of Cap’n Bill, "Sounds to me as like you’ve met a mate of ours. Was the kitty made all o’ glass?"

"Yes, shadowed sir, now that you mention it."

"But what do you s’pose the Glass Cat was doing in the Winkie Country?" wondered the shadow of Trot.

President Sorgheefdrock gestured and said, "Shadows, I present the ambassador from the Republic of Beevboobrala, Torseechundo. We know him well in our city. Mr. Ambassador, I give you the shadow of the chief of the local Collosican monarchy, Ozma."

The ambassador bowed (though only halfway) and the shadow of Ozma nodded respectfully. "We shall have to make your acquaintance," she said.

"Did the Glass Cat happen to say what she was up to?" Trot persisted.

"Not definitely," responded the ambassador. "She asked after the route to the Vegetable Kingdom of the Mangaboos, and mentioned someone travelling with her, a certain Ruggedo."

"Ruggedo!" cried Dorothy in alarm. "Why would she be going around with that old Nome King?"

"Why indeed?" muttered the Shaggy Man with a sage look.

"It cannot be for the sake of friendship, for Bungle has no friends," the Wizard noted. "Her ruby heart will not permit any friendship to enter it."

"It seems most like-ly to me that the Glass Cat has been ab-duc-ted," declared the shadow of Tik-Tok. "Al-though Rug-ge-do has re-formed, he has al-rea-dy re-formed se-ver-al times and it has ne-ver stuck."

The Wizard puckered his brow. "And let it not escape our notice that the Vegetable Kingdom was mentioned. I still remember our visit to the Mangaboos—Dorothy, Eureka, and myself."

"My goodness, Wizard, that was so long ago," Dorothy commented. "Too me it’s pretty much a jumble."

The little Wizard smiled. "Yes, my dear, but as a charlatan and humbug—now reformed—it was necessary that I develop a very sharp memory, as my tricks depended on it."

"If Bungle has been kidnapped by the former Nome King, we may have to mount a rescue expedition," said Ozma’s shadow firmly. "I won’t have members of my court being stolen." The shadow of the princess curtseyed to the pair of presidents with great regal dignity and said, "I have done my duty here, but now it seems I must repair to the throne room of the Emerald Palace, there to consult with the sorceress Glinda and my other advisors. I hope you will forgive my hasty departure, men of mousehood."

"I’m sure we’ll forgive it, and quickly too," replied President Sorgheefdrock.

"Indeed, we ourselves were on the verge of suggesting it," added President Harcheevchack politely.

Beneath the Deadly Desert

Ruggedo gave her an amicable nod. "The two children are approaching even now. They have finished eating, and so have I. Do you ever eat, madam?"

"Hmmph!" she replied. "I am not built to eat. The only thing I could eat would be my words—and I never have to."

Having thanked the Winkie couple who had hosted them for lunch, Stot and Junipee rejoined Ruggedo and the Glass Cat, refreshed and ready to proceed.

"Do we really know where we’re going, Mr. King?" asked Stot.

"And why would you care, you fortunate youth?" returned the Nome King mildly. "Are you not happy in my presence?"

"Sure—now an’ then. But I get cranky if I don’t have my nap."

"He really does," Junipee confirmed.

"I will see that he gets his nap," declared the Nome King, "for I cannot abide crankiness." Of course, Ruggedo himself was always cranky; but as he could not abide even himself, his statement was true.

Off they went following Bungle, who now pattered along with renewed confidence and vanity, her tail in the air like a little flagpole of glass—for she knew where she was going. "I will leave the fate of those shrunken people in the paws of that powderpuff of a Pink Kitten," her thoughts murmured to her brain. "These people appreciate me, even if they don’t know that it is me whom they appreciate."

They travelled westward, on something of a northern slant. This was a longer distance than that from Ruggedo’s cave to the environs of the Emerald City, yet they completed it in less than half the time: for the directions provided by the brown mouse guided them away from all obstructions and difficult stretches. Stot had his nap on a bed of clover and dandelions, and around suppertime they came to a Winkie metropolis of three cottages gathered at a clearing in the woods, where they were given such food as they required, and a place to sleep the night.

By the early afternoon of the day following, the trek through the yellow Winkie Country came to its end. The foursome had left the Great Dark Winkie Forest some time earlier, and now were passing through a sort of prairie landscape sprinkled with low rounded hills. Finally they came out from the shadow of one such hill, and Junipee cried: "Look!"

A mile or so away the yellow grasses and amber shrubs faded out rather suddenly, as if at the edge of a shoreline. The earth sloped downward for a handful of yards to meet a great, ugly barrenness of brown and tan and especially gray.

"Ah! Now there is a pretty sight," exclaimed Ruggedo. "You children may not think so, for you are used to living among the garish-colored molds that infect the surface of the world—and I don’t care what you think of it, cat of glass—; but to a Nome, this vista is one of serenity and uplift."

"Is that your plan, Your Former Majesty?" inquired Junipee in a mocking tone; "to ‘uplift’ us over it? Cause if that’s the Deadly Desert, I hear tell nobody can so much as touch it and live."

Ruggedo’s eyes widened a bit (for as much as he disliked being contradicted, he liked being made fun of even less) but he remembered to keep his temper under control. "That is the Deadly Desert, little miss smarty-boots, and my mentioning my admiration for its appearance does not mean I fail to recognize its power. Nomes are living creatures too, you know."

"And don’t forget me," interjected the Glass Cat. "I was created by means of the wonderful Powder of Life, and I wouldn’t want to lose what it gave me."

"Eureka, you told us you were already alive when that Magic Belt turned you to glass," said Junipee in a suspicious tone.

"Precisely!" Bungle retorted, brains whirling. "But you don’t suppose life of the meat kind could continue on in a glass body, do you? Ozma had to use the Powder to make the glass alive."

"Well… whatever." Junipee turned back to the Nome King, who was watching this exchange with amusement. "So how are we supposed to get across this desert?"

"I know, I know!" shouted little Stot gleefully. "We can go across the same way Yoo-reeka did before!"

This answer worried the Glass Cat. The mouse had told her the exact route up to the desert, and how to continue on the other side. But she had no idea how to get across, and couldn’t recall the story of how Dorothy and Eureka had gotten across in the first place.

However, there was no need to worry, as Ruggedo had already taken the desert into account. "If you have paid attention while studying the history of Oz in school," he began; but then he stopped for Junipee and Stot were looking at him blankly. So he turned to the Glass Cat, whom he thought was Eureka.

"Don’t look at me," she said. "Cats don’t go to school. We are born wise."

This time Ruggedo’s eyes narrowed rather than widened, but he held his temper in check and said, "Yes, of course. Well then, some years ago—and ‘some’ in this case means ‘very many’—when I came to visit my Magic Belt in the Emerald City, I came by way of an underground tunnel."

The Glass Cat flashed Ruggedo an insolent smile. "As if there were such a thing as a tunnel not underground!"

The Nome King scowled and growled, but continued. "I came by tunnel, as I say, passing harmlessly beneath the desert. My Nomes dug it for me, running it straight as a line from my cavern capitol to the royal palace of Ozma. As I knew the four of us would be heading toward the land of the Mangaboos, which is approximately beneath my old dominions, I have anticipated that we would reach the edge of the Deadly Desert somewhere close to the place where the tunnel crosses—for it still exists."

"Does not!" said Bungle. "I was told by—that is, I happen to recall—that Princess Ozma used the Magic Belt to fill-in the tunnel after that visit of yours, which most people call an invasion, you know."

"Of that I am well aware," responded the Nome sourly. "Ozma has created a virtual industry of spreading false stories about the Nomes. But I know something no-one else knows. The transformations produced by the Magic Belt are not entirely permanent. After a span of ninety-one years, four months, three weeks, two days, eight hours, twelve minutes, and fifty-three and one-third seconds—approximately—the transformation wears off and must be re-applied. By my calculations the air within the tunnel, which was transformed by Ozma to stone and dirt, has now become air again."

"Then somebody could fall in at the end and get stuck," Stot pointed out with a little laugh. He found the image amusing.

"The last few feet, on the grounds of the palace, were filled-in immediately upon my departure, by hand. The Magic Belt handled the rest; and it is only that remainder that concerns us."

Junipee looked right and left, skeptically. "If your tunnel is underground, like a subway, just how do you plan to find out where it is?"

"My native abilities as a Nome allow me to feel the general layout of the underground regions," replied Ruggedo. "I can tell that the tunnel lies just a bit further north. When we are directly over it, I will cause the gravel and rocks beneath our feet to roll out of the way, which will also carry off some of the dirt. We will then have an opening through which to descend to the tunnel."

The foursome travelled northward along the edge of the Deadly Desert. A short time later the former Nome King stopped and announced, "Here!—we are over the tunnel." He then sank down upon his narrow, spidery knees and placed the palms of his hands flat upon the ground. After a minute, muffled noises and slight vibrations began to issue through the ground. A minute more, and a hole, like a well, yawned open.

"Are there lights?" asked Stot. "I don’t want to stumble. Besides, I don’t like the dark."

"He can make the rocks light up, Stot," Junipee admonished, "just like he did in his little cave."

"Indeed I can," confirmed Ruggedo. "Now then, down we go."

They all climbed down the hole, using big rocks sticking out of the sides as if they were stair-steps. Upon reaching the bottom, the Nome waved his arms and they were flooded with a soft light. The broad tunnel was revealed, stretching like a highway into the distance in both directions.

"It’s not so big as the Holland Tunnel, but I guess it’ll do," remarked Junipee. They commenced walking steadily in that portion of the tunnel that went toward the west. This part of the trip was very dull. Not much was happening underground, it seemed. Every now and then the Glass Cat spied an earthworm hurrying out of the way, and she recollected that her overall knowledge of how to get to Mangaboo came from such creatures. It felt like a great indignity.

Though there was no way to know when it was nighttime overhead, the two meat people knew when they were becoming sleepy, and even the rock person had to sleep at intervals. So they slept in the tunnel, Junipee and Stot sleeping upon stone mattresses made soft and springy by the Nome King’s magic.

But Bungle, being a conglomeration of crystal, had no need for sleep. She restlessly wandered ahead up the tunnel—for even a cat of glass is curious. She meandered along for a mile or more when her sharp emerald eyes caught a glint of something in the tunnel wall. A very large hazel-colored eye, about twice as big as a human person’s, was gazing at her steadily through a crack between two rocks.

"Hello," Bungle said indifferently, walking on; for though she was curious, she was too vain to show it.

After a few minutes she again saw a big eye staring through another crack, this time on the other side of the tunnel.

"Good evening," said she. There was no response, and she moved on.

A good deal further along, she paused to stretch herself from end to end, as cats do. During the course of this elaborate stretch she happen to look up at the tunnel ceiling; and there, looking down at her, was another one of the eyes.

"I don’t mind if you some out to look at me," Bungle said. "If you get closer you will see more easily that I am crystal-clear and a great pleasure to the eye. Even taken by themselves my brains are a marvel to observe; you can see ’em work."

"Can’t," said a voice as deep as a cavern, slightly muffled and seeming to come from all directions at once.

"That’s too bad," responded the Glass Cat. "I’m sure I would feel sorry for you if my heart were of some soft material." She noticed now that a dozen more eyes were looking at her from all sides. It was curiosity that caused her to say, "Couldn’t a few of you come out into the open?"

"Can’t," came the same voice; and more eyes appeared behind more cracks.

"Just how many of you are there?" demanded the cat.

"One."

Bungle could not help showing some surprise at this. "You mean to tell me there’s just one of you?"

"Truth," was the response, which Bungle took to mean, Yes.

"And all these different eyes go back to the same body?"

"Truth."

The Glass Cat considered this for a moment. She was not at all afraid, but her curiosity had been tuned to a high pitch by this peculiar situation. "Well," said said finally, "since there’s just one of you, what is your name?"

"Geodd."

"Sounds a bit foreign," she commented. "I am Bungle, the famous Glass Cat of Oz. There!—now you know. Perhaps, though, I shouldn’t have told you. Kindly refer to me as ‘Eureka’ when others are about, won’t you?"

"Eureka," repeated Geodd.

"Ha! Multiple syllables. Tell me, then, how long has there been just one of you?"

The answer was, "Always."

"And how long is that?"

"Always," said Geodd again.

"I take it you’re some sort of ignoramus," commented Bungle. "Perhaps you can’t help it. Do you live inside the ground?"

"Truth