 Preface of the Royal Book of Oz This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Royal Book of Oz by Ruth Plumlee Thompson. Narrator, read by Kay Hand. Professor Wogglebug. Old Gentleman. Read by Beth Thomas. Sif, Withered, Grandson, Big Bush, Rattlesnake, Blink, Random, Middling, Son. Read by Christine G. Tick-tock, Middling Father, Pokemon, Giant, Bed, Silverman. Read by Sunshine Tindle. Doubtful Dramadary, Fix King. Read by Janet. Scarecrow. Read by Chuck Williamson. Lantern One, Winky Lady, Grandsons, Princess Osma, Memo, Princess Orange Blossom. Read by The Story Girl. Cowardly Lion. Read by Woolly Bee. Sir Hocus. Read by Peter Partial. Farmer. Read by Joseph. People. Scraps. Read by Francis Brown. Chief Poker. General. Fix One. Comfortable Camel. Read by PJ Morgan. Prince. Read by Sophia. Other Little Parts. Read by Annika. Cordiers. Jack. Muddle. Others. People. Sticken. Prince. Number Two. The Wizard of Oz. A. B. C. Serpent. Read by Todd. Happy Toko. Read by Todd Jenkins. Preface. Dear children, you will remember that in the front part of Glinda of Oz, the publishers told you that when Mr. Baum went away from this world, he left behind some unfinished notes about the Princess Osma and Dorothy and the jolly people of the wonderful land of Oz. The publishers promised that they would try to put these notes together into a new Oz book for you. Well, here it is. The Royal Book of Oz. I am sure that Mr. Baum would be pleased that Ruth Plumlee Thompson, who has known and loved the Oz stories ever since she was a little girl, has made this new Oz story with all the Oz folks in it and true to life. You see, I am Mrs. Baum, the wife of the Royal Historian of Oz, and so I know how he feels about everything. Now about the story. Of course, we all knew the Scarecrow was a very fine fellow, but surely we never guessed he ascended from an emperor. Most of us descend from our ancestors, but the Scarecrow really ascended. The Scarecrow had a most exciting and adventurous time on the Silver Isle, and Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion just ran out of one adventure into another trying to rescue him. They made some charming new friends in their travels, Sir Hocus of the Pokes, the doubtful drama dairy, and the comfortable camel. You'll find them very unusual and likable. They had the same peculiar, delightful, and informal natures that we love in all the queer Oz people. Of course, every one of us is happy that John R. Neal has drawn the funny and lovely pictures for the new book. Mr. Neal surely is the Royal Painter of Oz. This note is intended for all the children of America who knew and loved Mr. Baum, and it goes to each of you with his love and mine. Maude, G. Baum, Ozcott, Hollywood, California in the spring 1921. End of preface. Chapter 1 of The Royal Book of Oz. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Royal Book of Oz by Ruth Plumlee Thompson, Chapter 1. Professor Wogglebug's Great Idea. The very thing! exclaimed Professor Wogglebug, bounding into the air and upsetting his gold ink well. The very next idea! Who? Me? A round-faced little munchkin boy stuck his head in the door and regarded Professor Wogglebug solemnly. He was working his way through the professor's athletic college, and one of his duties was to wait upon this eminent educator of Oz. Certainly not. Snapped Professor Wogglebug. You're a nobody or a nothing. Stop gaping and fetch me my hat. I'm off to the Emerald City, and mind if the pupils take their history pills irregularly while I'm gone. He added, clapping his tall hat, Ziff held out to him on the back of his head. Yes, sir. Said the little munchkin respectfully. Don't remarks her. This last remark, the professor did not hear, for he was already halfway down the college steps. Osma will be delighted with the idea. How clever I am. He murmured, twirling his antenna and walking rapidly down the pleasant blue lane. The professor, whose College of Art and Athletic Perfection is in the southwestern part of the munchkin country, is the biggest bug in Oz or in any place else for that matter. He has made education painless by substituting school pills for books. His students take Latin history and spelling pills. They swallow knowledge of every kind with ease and pleasure and spend the rest of their time in sport. No wonder he is so well thought of in Oz. No wonder he thinks so well of himself. Swinging his cane jauntily, the professor hurried toward the yellow brick road that leads to the Emerald City and by nightfall had reached the lovely capital of Oz. Oz, that marvelous country where no one grows old, where animals and birds talk as sensibly as people, and adventures happen every day. Indeed, of all fairy lands in the world, Oz is the most delightful, and of all fairy cities, the Emerald City is the most beautiful. A soft green light shown for miles about, and the gemmed turrets and spires of the palace flashed more brightly than the stars. But its loveliness was familiar to Professor Wagelbug, and without a pause he proceeded to Ozma's palace and wasn't once admitted to the Great Hall. A roar of merriment greeted his ears. Ozma, the lovely girl ruler of Oz, was having a party, and the room was full of most surprising people. Surprising to some, that is, but old friends to most of us. Jack, holding tightly to his pumpkin head, was running as fast as his wooden feet and wobbly legs would take him from Dorothy. A game of blind man's buff was in full swing, and scraps and TikTok, the Scarecrow and Nick Chopper, the glass cat and the cowardly lion, the Wizard of Oz and the wooden saw horse, Cap and Bill and Betsy Bobbin, Belina and the hungry tiger were tumbling over each other in an effort to keep away from the blindfolded little girl. But Dorothy was too quick for them. With a sudden whirl she spun round and grasped a coat sleeve. The Scarecrow! She laughed triumphantly. I can tell by the way he squishes, and now he's it. I'm always it! Chuckled the droll person. But, ah, behold the learned Professor, standing so aloofly in our midst. No one had noticed Professor Wogglebug, who had been quietly watching the game. I don't like to interrupt the party. He began, approaching Osmos thrown apologetically. But I've just had a most brilliant idea. What, another? murmured the Scarecrow rolling up his eyes. Where did you lose it? Asked Jack Pumpkin head edging forward anxiously. Lose it? Who said I'd lost it? Snapped the Professor, glaring at poor Jack. Well, you said you'd had it, and had is the past tense, so… Jack's voice trailed off uncertainly, and Osmo, seeing he was embarrassed, begged the Professor to explain. Your Highness. Began Professor Wogglebug, while the company settled down in a resigned circle on the floor. As Os is the most interesting and delightful country on the continent of imagination, and its people the most unusual and talented, I am about to compile a royal book which will give the names and history of all our people. In other words, I am to be the great, grand, genealogist of Os. Whatever that is. The Scarecrow whispered in Dorothy's ear. And the Professor frowned severely on the Scarecrow. With your Majesty's permission, I shall start at once. Oh, please do. Said the Scarecrow with a wave toward the door. And we will go on with the party. Scraps, the patchwork girl who had been staring fixedly at the Professor with her silver suspender butt and eyes, now sprang to her feet. What is a genealogist? It's something no one here has missed. What put such notions in your head? Turn out your toes, or go to bed. She shouted gaily, then catching Osmo's disapproving glance fell over backwards. I don't understand it at all. Said Jack Pumpkinhead in a depressed voice. I'm afraid my head's too ripe. Nor I. Said Tiktok, the copper clockwork man. Please wind me up a little tighter, Dorothy. I want to think. Dorothy obligingly took a key suspended from a hook on his back and wound him up under his left arm. Everybody began to talk at once, and what with the cowardly lion's deep growl and Tiktok's squeaky voice and all the rest of the tin and meat and wooden voices, the confusion was terrible. Wait! cried Osmo, clapping her hands. Immediately the room grew so still that one could hear Tiktok's machinery whirring round. Now, said Osmo, one at a time, please, and let us hear from the Scarecrow first. The Scarecrow rose. I think you're Highness. He said modestly, that anyone who has studied his geosiphy already knows who we are and who you are. Look in the Wogglebug scornfully. Of course they do, but I shall tell them who you were. Who I were? Gasped the Scarecrow in a dazed voice, raising his cotton glove to his forehead. Who I were? Well, who were I? That's just the point. Said Professor Wogglebug. Who were you? Who were your ancestors? Where is your family? Where is your family tree? From what did you descend? In each question the Scarecrow looked more embarrassed. He repeated the last one several times. From what did I descend? From what did I descend? Why from a beanpole? He cried. This was perfectly true. For Dorothy, a little girl blown by a Kansas cyclone to the Kingdom of Oz, had discovered the Scarecrow in a farmer's cornfield and had lifted him down from his pole. Together they had made the journey to the Emerald City, where the Wizard of Oz had fitted him out with a fine set of brains. At one time he had ruled Oz and was generally considered its cleverest citizen. Before he could reply further, the patchwork girl, who was simply irrepressible, burst out. An extra-ordinary man is he, a beanpole for his family tree. A cornish man, upon my soul, descended from a tall-fin pole. Nonsense, said Professor Wogglebug sharply. Being stuffed with straw may make him extraordinary, but it is quite plain that the Scarecrow was nobody before he was himself. He has no ancestors, no family, only a beanpole for a family tree, and is therefore entitled to the merest mention in the Royal Book of Oz. How about my brains? Ask the Scarecrow in a hurt voice. Aren't they enough? Brains have simply nothing to do with royalty. Professor Wogglebug waved his fountain pen firmly. Now. But see here, wasn't I ruler of Oz? I'll put in the Scarecrow anxiously. A ruler, but never a royalty. Snapped out the Professor. Now, if you will answer all my questions as I call your names, I'll get the necessary data and be off. He took out a small memorandum book. Your Highness. He bowed to Ozma. Need not bother. I have already entered your name at the head of the list. Being descended as you are from a long line of fairies, your family tree is the oldest and most illustrious in Oz. Princess Dorothy. The sound of her name the little girl stood up. I know you are from Kansas and were created a Princess of Oz by our gracious ruler. But can you tell me anything of your ancestors in America? Demanded the Professor, staring over the top of his thick glasses. You'll have to ask Uncle Henry and Aunt M. Said Dorothy rather socally. The Professor had hurt the feelings of her best friend the Scarecrow, and ancestors did not interest her one little bit. Very well. The Professor, writing industriously in his book. I'll just enter you as Dorothy, Princess of Oz, and Sixth Cousin to a President. I'm not! Dorothy shook her head positively. Oh, everyone in America can claim that. Said the Professor easily. Nick Chopper. Now rose up our old friend, the Tin Woodman, who had also been discovered by Dorothy on her first trip to the Fairyland of Oz. You were a man of meat at one time, and a woodman by trade. Said Professor Wogglebug, poising his pen in the air. I am a Tin Woodman, and you may enter me and your book under the name of Smith. For a Tin Smith made me, and as Royal Emperor of the Wingies, I do not care to go back to my meat connections. Said the Tin Woodman in a dignified voice. The company applauded, and a cowardly lion thumped the floor with his tail. Smith is a very good name. I can work up a whole chapter on that. Smiled the Professor. The Tin Woodman had once been a regular person, but a wicked witch enchanted his axe, and first it chopped off one leg, then the other, and nexed both arms and his head. After each accident, Nick went to a Tin Smith for repairs, and was finally entirely made of tin. Nowhere but in Oz could such a thing happen. But no one can be killed in this marvelous country, and Nick, with his tin body, went gaily on living, and was considered so distinguished that the Wingies had begged him to be their Emperor. Scrubs. Called the Professor as Nick sat stiffly down beside Dorothy. The Patchwork Girl pirouetted madly to the front, putting one finger in her mouth she sang, I'm made of patches, as you see. A clothes tree is my family tree, but it's all the same to me. A clothes tree. Even Professor Wogglebug grinned, who could help laughing at scraps? Made of odd pieces of goods, and brought to life by the powder of life, the comical girl was the jolliest person imaginable. Put me down as a man of metal! Drawn Tick-Tock, the copper man, as the laugh following scraps's rhyme had subsided. Tick-Tock was still another of Dorothy's discoveries, and this marvelous machine man, guaranteed to last a thousand years, could think, walk, and talk when properly wound. The cowardly lion was entered as a king in his own right. One after the other the celebrities of Oz came for it to answer Professor Wogglebug's questions. The Professor wrote rapidly in his little book, Osma listed attentively to each one, and they all seemed interested except the Scarecrow. Slumped down beside Dorothy he stared morosely at the ceiling, his jolly face all wrinkled down on one side. Oh, if only I knew who I were. He muttered over and over. I must think. Don't you mind? Dorothy padded his shoulder kindly. Royalties are out of date, and I'll bet the Professor's family tree was a milkweed. But the Scarecrow refused to be comforted, and long after the company had retired he sat hunched sadly in his corner. I'll do it. I'll do it. He exclaimed at last, rising unsteadily to his feet. Jell-ia Jam, Osma's little waiting-maid, returning somewhat later to fetch a handker chift her mistress had dropped, was surprised to see him running through the long hall. Why, where are you going? Asked Jell-ia. To find my family tree. Said the Scarecrow darkly, and drawing himself up to his full height he fell through the doorway. The moon shone brightly, but everyone in the emerald city was fast asleep. Through the deserted streets hurried the Scarecrow. For the first time since his discovery by little Dorothy he was really unhappy. Living as he did in a fairyland he had taken many things for granted, and had rather prided himself on his unusual appearance. Indeed, not until Professor Wogglebug's rude remarks concerning his family had he given his past a thought. I am the only person in Oz without a family. He reflected sorrowfully. Even the cowardly lion has kingly parents and a palm tree, but I must keep thinking. My brains have not failed me yet. Who was I? Who were I? Often he thought so hard that he forgot to look where he was going, and ran headlong into fences, stumbled down gutters, and overstyles. But fortunately the dear fellow could not hurt himself, and he would struggle up, pat his straw into shape, and walk straight way into something else. He made good time in between falls, however, and was soon well on his way down the Yellow Brick Road that ran through the Munchkin Country. For he had determined to return to the Munchkin Farm where Dorothy had first discovered him, and tried to find some traces of his family. Now being stuffed with straw had many advantages. For requiring neither food nor sleep the Scarecrow could travel night and day without interruption. The stars winked out one by one, and by the time the cocks of the Munchkin Farmers began to crow, he had come to the banks of a broad blue river. The Scarecrow took off his hat and scratched his head thoughtfully. Crossing rivers is no easy matter in Oz, for there isn't a fairy in the kingdom, and unless one is a good swimmer, or equipped with some of the wizard's magic, it is mighty troublesome. Water does not agree with Scarecrow at all, and as for swimming he can no more swim than a bag of meal. But he was too wise a person to give up merely because a thing appeared to be impossible. It was for just such emergencies that his excellent brains had been given to him. If Nick Chopper were here, he would build a raft in no time. murmured the Scarecrow. But, as he is not, I must think of another way. Turning his back on the river, which distracted his mind, he began to think with all his might. Before he could collect his thoughts there was a tremendous crash, and next minute he was lying face down in the mud. Several little crashes followed, and a shower of water, then a wet voice called out with a cheerful chuckle. Come out, my dear rattles! Not a bad place at all, and here's breakfast already waiting. Breakfast! This Scarecrow turned over cautiously. A huge and curious creature was slashing through the grass toward him. A smaller and still more curious one followed. Both were extremely damp, and had evidently just come out of the river. Good morning! Quavered the Scarecrow, sitting up with a jerk, and at the same time reaching for a stick that lay just behind him. I won't eat it if it talks! So there! The smaller creature stopped, and stared fixedly at the Scarecrow. The Scarecrow, hearing this, tried to think of something else to say, but the appearance of the two was so amazing that as he told Dorothy afterwards he was struck dumb. The larger was at least two hundred feet long and made entirely of blocks of wood. On each block was a letter of the alphabet. The head was a huge square block with a serpent's face and long curling tape measure tongue. The little one was very much smaller and seemed to consist of hundreds of rattles, wood, celluloid, and rubber fastened together with wires. Every time it moved, the rattles tinkled. Its face, however, was not unpleasant, so the Scarecrow took heart and made a deep bow. And I'm not going to eat anything that squirms! This time it was the big serpent who spoke. Thank you! He said the Scarecrow, bowing several times more. You relieve my mind. I've never been a breakfast yet, and I'd rather not begin. But if I cannot be your breakfast, let me be your friend. He extended his arms impulsively. There was something so jolly about the Scarecrow's smile that the two creatures became friendly at once and moreover told him the story of their lives. As you have doubtless noted, began a larger creature, I am an ABC serpent. I am employed in the nursery of the mare children to teach them their letters. My friend here is a rattlesnake, as it is his business to amuse the mer-babies while the mermaids are mer-marketing. Once a year we take a vacation, and proceeding from the sea depths up a strange river, we came out upon this shore. Perhaps you, sir, will be able to tell us where we are. You are in the Munchkin country of the land of Oz. Explain the Scarecrow politely. It is a charming place for a vacation. I would show you about myself if I were not bound on an important mission. Here, the Scarecrow sighed deeply. Have you a family? He asked the ABC serpent curiously. Yes, indeed. Replied the monster, snapping its tape-measure tongue in and out. I have five great-grandmothers, twenty-one grand-nieces, seven brothers, and six sisters-in-law. Ha! Mermored the Scarecrow, clasping his hands tragically. How I envy you. I have no one, no aunts, no ancestors, no family, no family tree, but a beanpole. I am, alas, a man without a past. The Scarecrow looked so dejected that the rattlesnake thought he was going to cry. Oh, cheer up. It begged in a distressed voice. Think of your presence here. I give you permission to shake me. The Scarecrow was so affected by this kind offer that he cheered up immediately. No past but a presence. I'll remember that. He swelled out his straw-chest complacently and leaning over a stroke to the rattlesnake on the head. Are you good at riddles? Asked the rattlesnake timidly. Well? Answered the Scarecrow judiciously. I have very good brains, given me by the famous Wizard of Oz. Then why is the ABCs happened like a city? Asked the rattlesnake promptly. The Scarecrow thought hard for several seconds. Because it is made up of blocks. He roared triumphantly. That's easy. Now it's my turn. Why is the ABC serpent such a slow talker? Give it up. Said the rattlesnake after shaking himself several more times. Because his tongue is a tape-measure, and he has to measure his words. Cried the Scarecrow snapping his clumsy fingers. And that's a good one. If I did make it myself, I must remember to tell it to Dorothy. Then he sobered quite suddenly, for the thought of Dorothy brought back the purpose of his journey. Interrupting the rattlesnake in the midst of a new riddle, he explained how anxious he was to return to the little farm where he had been discovered and try to find some traces of his family. And the real riddle— He sighed with the wave of his hand— Is how to cross this river? That's easy, and no riddle at all. Called the ABC serpent, who had been listening attentively to the Scarecrow's remarks. I'll stretch a cross, and you can walk over. Suiting the action to the word, he began backing very cautiously towards the river so as not to shake the Scarecrow off his feet. Mind your peas and cubes. Called the rattlesnake warningly, it was while that he spoke, for the ABC serpent had doubled the pea and cue blocks under, and they were ready to snap off. Finally, however, he managed to make a bridge of himself, and the Scarecrow stepped easily over the blocks, the huge serpent holding himself rigid. Just as he reached Y, the unfortunate creature sneezed, and all the blocks rattled together. Up flew the Scarecrow and escaped falling into the stream only by the narrowest margin. Blockhead! Shrilled the rattlesnake, who had taken a great fancy to the Scarecrow. I'm all right. Cried the Scarecrow rather breathlessly. Thank you very much. He sprang nimbly up the bank. Hope you have a pleasant vacation. Can't. With a rattle paid like that. The ABC serpent nodded glumly in the rattlesnake's direction. Now don't quarrel. Beg the Scarecrow. You are both charming and unusual, and if you follow that yellow road, you will come to the Emerald City, and Osma will be delighted to welcome you. The Emerald City! We must see that, my dear rattles! Seeing his momentary displeasure, the ABC serpent pulled himself out of the river, and waving his XYZ blocks in farewell to the Scarecrow, went clattering down the road, the little rattlesnake rattling along behind him. As for the Scarecrow, he continued his journey, and the day was so delightful and the country so pleasant that he almost forgot he had no family. He was treated everywhere with the greatest courtesy, and had innumerable invitations from the hospitable munchkins. He was anxious to reach his destination, however, so he refused them all, and travelling night and day came without further mishap or adventure late on the second evening to the little munchkin farm where Dorothy had first discovered him. He was curious to know whether the pole on which he had been hoisted to Scare away the crow still stood in the cornfield, and whether the farmer who had made him could tell him anything further about his history. It is a shame to awaken him! Thought the kind, Scarecrow. I'll just take a look in the cornfield. The moon shone so brightly that he had no trouble finding his way about. With a little cry of pleasure he pushed his way through the dry corn stalks. There in the center of the field stood a tall pole, the very identical bean pole from which he had descended. All the family or family tree I've got! Cried the Scarecrow, running toward it with emotion. What's that? A window in the farmhouse was thrown up, and a sleepy munchkin thrust out his head. What are you doing? He called crossly. Thinking. Said the Scarecrow, leaning heavily against the bean pole. Well, don't do it out loud. Snaps the farmer. Then, catching a better view of the Scarecrow, he cried in surprise. Why, it's you! Come right in my dear fellow, and give us the latest news from the Emerald City. I'll fetch a candle. The farmer was very proud of the Scarecrow. He had made him long ago by stuffing one of his old suits with straw, painting a jolly face on a sack, stuffing that and fastening the two together. Red boots, a hat, and yellow gloves had finished his man, and nothing could have been jollier than the result. Later on, when the Scarecrow had run off with Dorothy and got his brains from their Wizard of Oz and become ruler of the Emerald City, the little farmer had felt highly gratified. The Scarecrow, however, was not in a humor for conversation. He wanted to think in peace. Don't bother. He called up. I'm going to spend the night here. I'll see you in the morning. All right. Take care of yourself. Yawned to the farmer, and drew in his head. For a long time the Scarecrow stirred perfectly still beside the bean pole. Thinking. Then he got his spade from the shed and began clearing away the corn stalks and dried leaves from around the base of the pole. It was slow work, for his fingers were clumsy, but he persevered. Then a wonderful idea came to him. Perhaps if I dig down a bit, I may discover. He got no further, for at the word discover he pushed the spade down with all his might. There was a loud crash. The bottom dropped out of things, and the Scarecrow fell through. Great corn stalks! Cried the Scarecrow, throwing up his arms. To his surprise they came in contact with a stout pole which he embraced. It was a lifesaver, for he was shooting down into the darkness at a great rate. Why? He gasped as soon as he regained his breath, for he was falling at a terrific rate of speed. Why, I believe I'm sliding down the bean pole. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of the Royal Book of Oz. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Royal Book of Oz by Ruth Plumlee Thompson. Chapter 3. Down the Magic Bean Pole. Hugging the bean pole for dear life, the Scarecrow slid rapidly downward. Everything was dark, but at times a confused roaring sounded in his ears. Father, I heard something falling past. shouted a gruff voice all at once. Then reach out and pull it in. Growled a still deeper voice. There was a flash of light, a door open suddenly, and a giant hand snatched the air just above the Scarecrow's head. It's a good thing I haven't a heart to fail me. murmured the Scarecrow, glancing up fearfully and clinging more tightly to the pole. Though I fall, I shall not falter. But where under the earth am I falling to? At that minute a door opened far below, and someone called up. Who are you? Have out your toll, and be ready to salute the royal ruler of the midlings. The Scarecrow had learned in the course of his many and strange adventures that it was best to accede to every request that was reasonable or possible, realizing that unless he answered it once, he would fall past his strange questioners he shouted amiably. I am the Scarecrow of Oz. The words echoed oddly in a narrow passageway, and by the time he reached the word tree, the Scarecrow could make out two large brown men leaning from a door somewhere below. Next minute he came to a sharp stop. A board had shot out and closed off the passageway, so sudden was the stop that the Scarecrow was tossed violently upward. While he endeavored to regain his balance, the two midlings eyed him curiously. So this is the kind of thing they grow on top? Said one, holding a lantern, close to the Scarecrow's head. Toll! Toll! Droned the other, holding out a horribly twisted hand. One moment, your royal middleness. Cried the Scarecrow, backing as far away from the lantern as he could, for with a straw stuffing one cannot be too careful of fire. He felt in his pocket for an emerald he had picked up in the emerald city a few days before, and handed it gingerly to the muddy monarch. Why do you call me middleness? The king demanded angrily, taking the emerald. Is your kingdom not in the middle of the earth, and are you not royalty? What could be more proper than royal middleness? Asked the Scarecrow, flecking the dust from his hat. Now that he had a better view he saw that the two were entirely men of mud, and very roughly put together. Dried grass hairs stood erect upon each head, and their faces were large and lumpy, and had a disconcerting way of changing shape. Indeed, when the king leaned over to examine the Scarecrow, his features were so soft they seemed to run into his cheek, which hung down alarmingly, while his nose turned sideways and lengthened at least an inch. Muddle pushed the king's nose back, and began spreading his cheek into place. Instead of hands and feet, the midlings had gnarled and twisted roots which curled up in a perfectly terrifying manner. Their teeth were gold, and their eyes shone like small electric lights. They wore stiff coats of dried mud, buttoned clumsily with lumps of coal, and the king had a tall mud crown. Altogether the Scarecrow thought he had never seen more disagreeable-looking creatures. What he means, spluttered the king, fingering the jewel greedily, is a coat of mud. Shall we pull him in, Muddle? He's very poorly made, Your Majesty. Can you work, Carescrow? Asked Muddle, thumping him rudely in the chest. Scarecrow, if you please. The Scarecrow drew himself up and spoke with great difficulty. I can work with my head. He added proudly, Your head! roared the king. Did you hear that, Muddle? He works with his head. What's the matter with your hands? Again the king lunged forward, and this time his face fell on the other side, and had bulged enormously before Muddle could pat it into shape. They began whispering excitedly together, but the Scarecrow made no reply. For looking over their shoulder he glimps a dark, fitting cavern, lighted only by the flashing red eyes of thousands of middlings. They appeared to be digging, and above the rattle of the shovels and picks came the hoarse voice of one of them singing the middling national air, or so the Scarecrow gathered from the words. Oh, chop their brown quads as they fall with a thud. Three croaks fall over the middlings, who stick in the mud. Oh, Mud, rich and wormy. Oh, Mud, sweet and squirmy. Oh, what a so lovely as Mud. Three croaks fall over the middlings, who delve all the day in their beautiful kingdom of soft mud and clay. The croaks that came at the end of the song were so terrifying that the Scarecrow shivered in spite of himself. Ugh! Hardly a place for a pleasant visit. He gasped, flattening himself against the wall of the passage, feeling that matters had gone far enough he repeated in a loud voice. I am the Scarecrow of Oz, and I am the Scarecrow of Oz, and desire to continue my fall. I have paid my toll, and unless your royal middleness release me, might as well drop him, a useless creature. Whispered Muddle, and before the king had time to object, he jerked the board back. Fall on! He screeched maliciously, and the Scarecrow shot down into the darkness the horse screams of the two middlings echoing after him through the gloom. No use trying to think. The poor Scarecrow bumped and banged from side to side of the passage. It was all he could do to keep hold of the bean pole so swiftly was he falling. Ah! A good thing I'm not made of meat like little Dorothy! He wheezed breathlessly. His gloves were getting worn through from friction with the pole, and the rush of air past his ears was so confusing he gave up all idea of thinking. Even magic brains refused to work under such conditions. Down, down, down he plunged till he lost all count of time. Down, down, down, hours and hours. Would he never stop? Then suddenly it grew quite light, and he flashed through what appeared to be a hole in the roof of a huge silver palace, whirled down several stories and landed in a heap on the floor of a great hall. In one hand he clutched a small fan, and in the other a parasol that had snapped off the beanstalk just before he reached the palace roof. Shaken and bent over doubled though he was, the Scarecrow could see that he had fallen into a company of great magnificence. He had a confused glimpse of silken clad courtiers, embroidered screens, inlaid floors, and flashing silver lanterns when there was a thundering bang that hurled him halfway to the roof again. Falling to a sitting position and still clinging to the beanpole he saw two giant kettle drums nearby, still vibrating from the terrible blows they had received. The company were staring at him solemnly, and as he attempted to rise they fell prostrate on their faces. Up flew the poor flimsy Scarecrow again, such was the draught, and this time landed on his face. He was beginning to feel terribly annoyed, but before he could open his mouth or stand up a deep voice boomed, He has come. He has come. shrilled the rest of the company, thumping their heads on the stone floor. The language seemed strange to the Scarecrow, but oddly enough he could understand it perfectly. Keeping a tight grasp on the beanpole he gazed at the prostrate assemblage, too astonished to speak. They looked exactly like the pictures of some China men he had seen in one of Dorothy's picture books back in Oz, but instead of being yellow, their skin was a curious gray, and the hair of old and young alike was silver and worn in long, stiff cues. Before he had time to observe any more, an old, old courtier hobbled forward and beckoned imperiously to a page at the door. The page immediately unfurled a huge silk umbrella, and running forward held it over the Scarecrow's head. Come home, sublime and noble ancestor, welcome, honourable, and exalted, sir. The old gentleman made several deep salams. Welcome, immortal and illustrious ancestor, welcome, ancient and serene father! Cried the others, banging their heads hard on the floor, so hard that their cues flew into the air. Ancestor? Father? Mumbled the Scarecrow in a puzzled voice. Then, collecting himself somewhat, he made a deep bow, and sweeping off his hat with a truly royal gesture began. I am indeed honoured. But he got no farther. The silken clad courtier sprang to their feet in a frenzy of joy. A dozen seized him bodily and carried him to a great silver throne room. The same beautiful voice! Cried the ancient gentleman, clasping his hands in an ecstasy of feeling. It is he, the emperor! The emperor has returned! Long live the emperor! Shouted everyone at once. The confusion grew worse and worse. Ancestor? Father? Emperor? The Scarecrow could hardly believe his ears. For a fallen man, I am rising like yeast! He murmured to himself. Half a dozen courtiers had run outdoors to spread the wonderful news, and soon silver gongs and bells began ringing all over the kingdom, and cries of— The Emperor! The Emperor! Added to the general excitement. Holding fast to the sides of the throne, and still grasping the little fan and parasol, the Scarecrow sat blinking with embarrassment. If they would just stop, emperor-ing, I could ask them who I am. Thought the poor Scarecrow. As if in answer to his thoughts, the tottery old noblemen raised his long arm, and at once the hall became absolutely silent. Now! Side the Scarecrow leaning forward. Now I shall hear something of interest. Occupied one of the coziest departments in Osmas Palace, wakened the morning after the party with a feeling of great uneasiness. At breakfast the Scarecrow was missing. Although he, the tin woodmen, and scraps did not require food, they always livened up the table with their conversation. Ordinarily Dorothy would have thought nothing of the Scarecrow's absence, but she could not forget his distressed expression when Professor Wogglebug had so rudely remarked on his family tree. The Professor himself had left before breakfast, and everybody but Dorothy had forgotten all about the royal book of Oz. Already many of Osmas guests, who did not live in the palace, were preparing to depart, but Dorothy could not get over her feeling of uneasiness. The Scarecrow was her very best friend, and it was not like him to go without saying goodbye. So she hunted through the gardens, and in every room of the palace, and questioned all the servants. Unfortunately, Jelia Jam, who was the only one who had seen the Scarecrow go, was with her mistress. Osma always breakfasted it alone, and spent the morning over state matters. Knowing how busy she was, Dorothy did not like to disturb her. Betsy Bobbin and Trot, real little girls like Dorothy, also lived in the fairy palace, and Osma was a great chum for them. But the kingdom of Oz had to be governed in between times, and they all knew that unless Osma had the mornings to herself, she could not play with them in the afternoons. So Dorothy searched by herself. Perhaps I didn't look hard enough, thought the little girl, and searched the palace all over again. Don't worry, advised the tin woodman, who was playing checkers with scraps. He's probably gone home. He is a man of brains. Why worry, because he's left us in a hurry? Chuckled scraps with a careless wave of her hand, and Dorothy, laughing in spite of herself, ran out to have another look in the garden. That is just what he has done. And if I hurry, I may overtake him. Anyway, I believe I'll go and pay him a visit. Thought Dorothy. Trot and Betsy Bobbin were swinging in one of the royal hammocks, and when Dorothy invited them to go along, they explained that they were going on a picnic with the tin woodman. So without waiting to ask anyone else, or even whistling for Toto, her little dog, Dorothy skipped out of the garden. The cowardly lion, half asleep under a rose bush, caught a glimpse of her blue dress flashing by, and bounding to his feet, thudded after her. Where are you going? He asked, stifling a giant yawn. To visit the scarecrow. Explained to Dorothy. He looked so unhappy last night. I am afraid he is worrying about his family tree, and I thought perhaps I could cheer him up. The cowardly lion stretched luxuriously. I'll go too. He rumbled, giving himself a shake. But it's the first time I ever heard of the scarecrow worrying. But you see. Dorothy said gently. Professor Woglebuck told him he had no family. Family? Family, little six. Hasn't he got us? The cowardly lion stopped and waved his tail indignantly. Why? It's your old thing. Dorothy threw her arms around his neck. You've given me a lovely idea. The cowardly lion tried not to look pleased. Well, as long as I've given it to you, you might tell me what it is. He suggested mildly. Why? Said Dorothy, skipping along happily. Well, let him adopt us, and be his really relations. I'll be his sister, and you'll be— His cousin. That is, if you think he wouldn't mind having a great coward like me for a cousin. Do you still feel as cowardly as ever? Asked Dorothy sympathetically. More so. Side the great beast, glancing apprehensively over his shoulder. This made Dorothy laugh, for although the lion trembled like a cup of custard at the approach of danger, he always managed to fight with great valor, and the little girl felt safer with him than with the whole army of Oz, who never were frightened, but who always ran away. Now anyone who is at all familiar with his geosophy knows that the fairy land of Oz is divided into four parts, exactly like a part cheesy board, with the emerald city in the very center, the purple gillican country to the north, the red quadling country to the south, the blue munchkin country to the east, and the yellow country of the winkees to the west. It was toward the west that Dorothy and the cowardly lion turned their steps, for it was in the winkey country that the scarecrow had built his gorgeous golden tower in exactly the shape of a huge ear of corn. Dorothy ran along beside the cowardly lion, chatting over their many adventures in Oz, and stopping now and then to pick buttercups and daisies that dotted the roadside. She tied a big bunch to the tip of her friend's tail, and twined some more in his mane so that he presented a very festive appearance indeed. Then when she grew tired, she climbed on his big back, and swiftly they jogged through the pleasant land of the winkees. The people waved to them from the windows and fields, for everyone loved little Dorothy and the big lion, and as they passed a neat yellow cottage, a little winky lady came running down the path with a cup of tea in one hand, and a bucket in the other. I saw you coming and thought you might be thirsty. She called hospitably. Dorothy drank her cup without alighting. We're in an awful hurry. We're visiting the scarecrow. She exclaimed apologetically, the lion drank his bucket of tea at one gulp. It was so hot that it made his eyes water. How I loathe tea! If I hadn't been such a coward, I'd have upset the bucket. Grown to the lion as the little winky lady went back into her house. But no, I was afraid of hurting her feelings. Ugg, what a terrible thing it is to be a coward. Nonsense! said Dorothy, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. You're not a coward, you're just polite. Let's run very fast so we can reach the scarecrow in time for lunch. So like the wind away raced the cowardly lion, Dorothy holding fast to his mane, with her curls blowing straight out behind, and in exactly two oz hours and seventeen winky minutes they came to the dazzling corn-ear residence of their old friend. Hurrying through the cornfields that surrounded his singular mansion, Dorothy and the cowardly lion rushed through the open door. We've come for lunch! announced Dorothy. And I'm hungry enough to eat crow, rumbled the lion. Then both stopped in dismay, for the big reception room was empty. From a room above came a shuffling of feet, and blink, the scarecrow's gentlemanly housekeeper came running down the stairs. Where's the scarecrow? asked Dorothy anxiously. Isn't he here? Here! Isn't it there? Isn't he in the emerald city? He asked the little winky, putting his specks on upside down. No, at least. I don't think so. Oh, dear! I just felt that something had happened to him! Wailed Dorothy, sinking into an ebony armchair and fanning herself with a silk sofa cushion. Now, don't be alarmed. The cowardly lion rushed to Dorothy's side and knocked three vases and a clock off a little table just to show how calm he was. Think of his brains. The scarecrow has never come to harm yet, and all we have to do is return to the emerald city and look in Osmo's magic picture. Then, when we know where he is, we can go find him and tell him about our little adoption plan. He added, looking hopefully at Dorothy. The scarecrow himself couldn't have spoken more sensibly. Observed blink with a great sigh of relief, and even Dorothy felt better. In Osmo's palace, as many of you know, there is a magic picture, and when Osmo and Dorothy want to see any of their friends, they have merely to wish to see them, and instantly the picture shows the person wished for and exactly what he is doing at that certain time. Of course! sighed Dorothy. Why didn't I think of it myself? Better have some lunch before you start back! suggested blink, and bustling about had soon set out and appetizing repast. He was too busy worrying about the scarecrow to have much appetite, but the cowardly lion swallowed seventeen roasts and a bucket of corn syrup. To give me courage, he explained to Dorothy, licking his chops. There is nothing that makes me so cowardly as an empty stomach. It was quite late in the afternoon before they could get away. Blink insisted on putting up a lunch, and it took some time to make enough sandwiches for the cowardly lion. But at last it was ready and packed into an old box belonging to Mops, the scarecrow's cook. Then Dorothy, balancing the box carefully on her lap, climbed on the cowardly lion's back, and assuring Blink that they would return in a few days with his master, they bade him farewell. Blink almost spoiled things by bursting into tears, but he managed to restrain himself long enough to say goodbye, and Dorothy and the cowardly lion, feeling a little solemn themselves, started toward the emerald city. My, but it's growing dark, said Dorothy after they had gone several miles. I believe it's going to storm. Scarcely had she finished speaking before there was a terrific crash of thunder. The cowardly lion promptly sat down. Off of his back bounced the sandwich box, and into the sandwich box rolled Dorothy head first. How terribly upsetting! Coughed the cowardly lion. I should say it was. Dorothy crawled indignantly out of the hat-box and began wiping the butter from her nose. You've simply ruined the supper! It was my heart. Explained the cowardly lion sorrowfully. It jumped so hard that it upset me, but climb on my back again, and I'll run very fast to some place of shelter. But where are you? Dorothy asked in real alarm, for it had grown absolutely dark. Here? She covered the cowardly lion, and guided by his voice, Dorothy stumbled over to him and climbed again on his back. One crash of thunder followed another, and at each crash the cowardly lion leapt forward a bit faster, until they fairly flew through the dark. It won't take as long to reach the emerald city at this rate. Called Dorothy, but the wind tossed the words far behind her, and seeing that conversation was impossible, she clung fast to the lion's mane and began thinking about the scarecrow. The thunder continued at frequent intervals, but there was no rain, and after they had been running for what seemed to Dorothy, hours and hours, a sudden terrific bump sent her flying over the lion's head into a bush. Too breathless to speak, she felt herself carefully all over, then finding that she was still in one piece, she called to the cowardly lion. She could hear him moaning and muttering about his heart. Any bones broken? She asked anxiously. Only my head. The lion dismalied. Just then the darkness lifted as suddenly as it had fallen, and Dorothy saw him leaning against a tree with his eyes closed. There was a big bump on his head. With a little cry of sympathy, Dorothy hurried toward him, when all at once something strange about their surrounding struck her. Why, where are we? Cried the little girl, stopping short. The lion's eyes flew open, and forgetting all about his bump, he looked around in dismay. No sign of the emerald city anywhere. Indeed, they were in a great, dim forest, and considering the number of trees, it is a wonder that they had not run into one long ago. I must have run the wrong way! faltered the cowardly lion in a distressed voice. You couldn't help that. Anyone would lose his way in the dark, said Dorothy, generously. But I wish we hadn't fallen in the sandwiches. I'm hungry. So am I. Do you think anyone lives in this forest, Dorothy? Dorothy did not answer, for just then she caught sight of a big sign nailed to one of the trees. Turned to the right, directed the sign. Oh! Come on! Cried Dorothy, cheering up immediately. I believe we're going to have another adventure. I'd rather have some supper. sighed the cowardly lion wistfully. But unless we want to spend the night here, we might as well move along. I need to be fed up on adventure, I suppose. Come to the left, advised the next sign, and the two turned immediately and hurried on, trying to keep a straight course through the trees. In a fairyland like Oz, where there are no trains or trolleys or even horses for traveling, excepting Osmasaw Horse, there are bound to be unexplored portions. And though Dorothy had been at one time or another in almost every part of Oz, the country through which they were now passing was totally unfamiliar to her. Night was coming on, and it was growing so dark that she could hardly read the third sign when they presently came upon it. Don't sing, directed the sign sternly. Sing! snapped Dorothy indignantly. Who wants to sing? We might as well keep to the left. said the cowardly lion in a resigned voice, and they walked along for some time in silence. The trees were thinning out, and as they came to the edge of the forest another sign confronted them. Slow down! read Dorothy with great difficulty. What nonsense! If we slow down, how shall we ever get anywhere? Wait a minute. Mused the cowardly lion, half-closing his eyes. Aren't there two roads just ahead, one going up and one going down? Weird to take the down road, I suppose. Slow down! Isn't that what it says? Slow down it surely was, for the road was so steep and full of stones that Dorothy and the cowardly lion had to pick their way with utmost care. But even bad roads must end somewhere, and coming suddenly to the edge of the woods they saw a great city lying just below. A dim light burned over the main gate, and toward this the cowardly lion and Dorothy hurried as fast as they could. This was not very fast, for an unaccountable drowsiness was stealing over them. Slowly and more slowly, the tired little girl and her great four-footed companion advanced toward the dimly lighted gate. They were so drowsy that they had ceased to talk. But they dragged on. Oh, oh, um. Yawned to the cowardly lion. What makes my feet so heavy? He stopped short, and examined each of his four feet sleepily. Dorothy swallowed a yawn, and tried to run, but a walk was all she could manage. Oh, um. She gaped, stumbling along with her eyes closed. By the time they had reached the gate, they were yawning so hard that the cowardly lion had nearly dislocated his jaw, and Dorothy was perfectly breathless. Holding to the lion's mane to steady herself, Dorothy blinked up uncertainly at the sign over the gate. Ah, here we are. Oh. She held her hand wearily before her mouth. Then with a great effort, she read the words of the sign. Um, great grand and mighty slow kingdom of pokes. Ah, pokes. Do you hear? Oh. Dorothy looked about in alarm, despite her sleepiness. She repeated anxiously as no answer came through the gloom. The cowardly lion did not hear. He had fallen down and was fast asleep, and so in another minute was Dorothy, her head pillowed against his kind, comfortable, cowardly heart. Fast asleep at the gates of a strange gray city. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of the Royal Book of Oz. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Royal Book of Oz by Ruth Plumlee Thompson. Chapter 5, Sir Hocus of Pokes. It was long past sunup before Dorothy awoke. She rubbed her eyes, yawned once or twice, and then shook the cowardly lion. The gates of the city were open, and although it looked even grayer in the daytime than it looked at night, the travelers were too hungry to be particular. A large placard was posted just inside. This is pokes. Don't run. Don't sing. Talk slowly. Don't whistle. Order of the chief poker. Read Dorothy. How cheerful. Huh. Don't. Begged the cowardly lion with tears in his eyes. If I yawn again, I'll swallow my tail, and if I don't have something to eat soon, I'll do it anyway. Let's hurry. There's something queer about this place, Dorothy. Ah. Ah. Oh. Huh. Stifling their yawns, the two started down the long narrow street. The houses were of gray stone, tall and stiff, with tiny barbed windows. It was absolutely quiet, and not a person was in sight. But when they turned the corner, they saw a crowd of queer looking people creeping toward them. These singular individuals stopped between each step and stood perfectly still, and Dorothy was so surprised at their unusual appearance that she laughed right in the middle of a yawn. In the first place, they never lifted their feet, but pushed them along like skates. The women were dressed in gray polka dot dresses with huge poke bonnets that almost had their fat, sleepy, wide-mouthed faces. Most of them had pet snails on strings, and so slowly did they move that it looked as though the snails were tugging them along. The men were dressed like a party of congressmen, but instead of high hats wore large red night caps, and they were all as solemn as owls. It seemed impossible for them to keep both eyes open at the same time, and at first Dorothy thought they were winking at her. But as the whole company continued to stare fixedly with one open eye, she burst out laughing. At the unexpected sound, for no one had ever laughed in pokes before. The women picked up their snails in a great fright, and the men clapped their fingers to their ears, or to the places where their ears were under the red night caps. These must be the slow pokes. Giggled, Dorothy, nudging the cowardly lion. Let's go meet them, for they'll never reach as that they're right there coming. There's something wrong with my feet. Rumbled the cowardly lion without looking up. Ah! Ah! What's the use of hurrying? The fact of the matter was that they couldn't hurry if they tried. Indeed, they could hardly lift their feet at all. I wish the scarecrow were with us. Sighed the cowardly lion, shuffling along unhappily. He never grows sleepy, and he always knows what to do. No, you swishig. Yawned, Dorothy. I only hope he's not as lost as we are. By struggling hard, they just managed to keep moving, and by the time they came up with the slow pokes, they were completely worn out. A cross-looking poke held up his arm threateningly, and Dorothy and the cowardly lion stopped. You! Said the poke, then closed his mouth and soared, staring vacantly for a whole minute. Are! He brought out the word with a perfectly enormous yawn, and Dorothy began fanning the cowardly lion with her hat, for he showed signs of falling asleep again. What? She asked crossly. Under! Sighed the poke after a long pause, and Dorothy, seeing that there was no hurrying him, began counting to herself. Just as she reached sixty, the poke pushed back his red nightcap and shouted, Arrest! Arrest! Shouted all the other poke so loud that the cowardly lion roused himself with a start, and the pet snail stuck out their heads. Arrest! Arrest is not what we want. We want breakfast! Growled the lion irritably, and started to roar, but a yawn spoiled it. One silly cannot look fierce by yawning. You! Began the poke, but Dorothy could not stand hearing the same slow speech again. Putting her fingers in her ears, she shouted back. What for? The pokes regarded her sternly. Some even opened both eyes. Then the one who had first addressed them, covering a terrific gape with one hand, pointed with the other, to a sign on a large post at the corner of the street. Speed limit one quarter mile an hour, said the sign. We're arrested for speeding! Shouted Dorothy in the cowardly lion's ear. Did you say feeding? Asked the poor lion, waking up with a start. If I go to sleep again before I'm fed, I'll starve to death. Then keep awake! Yawned Dorothy. By this time the pokes had surrounded them and were waving them imperiously ahead. They looked so threatening that Dorothy and the cowardly lion began to creep in the direction of a gloomy gray castle. Of the journey neither of them remembered a thing, for with the gaping and yawning pokes it was almost impossible to keep awake. But they must have walked in their sleep, for the next thing Dorothy knew a harsh voice called slowly. Look him! Greatly alarmed Dorothy opened her eyes. They were in a huge stone hall hung all over with rusty armor, and seated on a great stone chair, snoring so loudly that all the steel helmets rattled was a knight. The tallest and crossest of the pokes rushed at him with a long poker, giving him such a shove that he sprawled to the floor. So yawned the cowardly lion, awakened by the clatter. The knight has fallen. Prisoner Sir Hocus! Shouted the chief poker, lifting the knight's plume and speaking into the helmet as if he were telephoning. The knight arose with great dignity, and after straightening his armor let down his visor, and Dorothy saw a kind, timid face with melancholy blue eyes, not at all pokish as she explained to Osma later. What means this unwanted clamor? Asked Sir Hocus, peering curiously at the prisoners. Sorry to awaken you, said Dorothy politely. But could you please give us some breakfast? A lot, added the cowardly lion, licking his chops. It's safer for me to sing, said the knight mournfully, and throwing back his head he roared in a high horse voice. Don't yawn, don't yawn, we're out of breath. Be gone, be gone, or die the death. The cowardly lion growled threateningly and began lashing his tail. If he weren't in a can, I'd eat him. He rumbled. But I never could abide tim'd meat. He's not in a can, he's an armor. Explained Dorothy, too interested to pay much attention to the cowardly lion, for at the first note of the night song the pokes began scowling horribly, and by the time he had finished they were backing out of the room faster than Dorothy ever imagined they could go. So, that's why the sign said don't sing. Thought Dorothy to herself, the air seemed clear somehow, and she no longer felt sleepy. When the last poke had disappeared, the knight sighed and climbed gravely back on his own chair. My singing makes them very wroth, and faith they cannot endure music. It weakens them, explained Sir Hocus. But hold to us food, you asked of me. Breakfast, I believe you called it. With an uneasy glance at the cowardly lion, who was sniffing the air hungrily, the knight banged on his steel armor with his sword, and a fat lazy poke shuffled slowly into the hall. Pid, bring the stew! Roared Sir Hocus as the poke stood blinking at them dullly. Stew, Pid! He repeated loudly, and began to hum under his breath, at which Pid fairly ran out of the room, returning in a few minutes with a large yellow bowl. This he handed ungraciously to Dorothy. Many brought a great copper tub of the stuff for the cowardly lion, and retired sulkily. Dorothy thought she had never tasted anything more delicious. The cowardly lion was gulping down his chair with closed eyes, and both, I am very sorry to say, forgot even to thank Sir Hocus. Are you perchance a damsel in distress? Quite startled, Dorothy looked up from her bowl, and saw the knight regarding her wistfully. She's in pokes, and that's the same thing. He said the cowardly lion without opening his eyes. We have lost. Began the little girl. But there was something so quaint and gentle about the knight that she soon found herself talking to him like an old friend. She told him all of their adventures since leaving the Emerald City, and even told about the disappearance of the Scarecrow. Passing strange, yet how refreshing, murmured Sir Hocus. And if I see him a little behind times, you must not blame me. For centuries I have dozed in this gray castle, and it cometh over me that things have greatly changed. This beast now, he talks quite manfully. And this kingdom that you mention, this Oz, never heard of it. Never heard of Oz? Gasp the little girl. Why, you're a subject of Oz. And pokes is in Oz, though I don't know just where. Here Dorothy gave him a short history of the fairy country and of the many adventures she had had since she had come there. Sir Hocus listened with growing melancholy. To think. He sighed mournfully. That I was a prisoner here. Well, all that was happening. Are you a prisoner? Asked Dorothy in surprise. I thought you were the king of pokes. Uds, daggers. Thundered Sir Hocus so suddenly that Dorothy jumped. I am a knight. Seeing her startled expression, he controlled himself. I was a knight. He continued brokenly. Long centuries ago, mounted on my goodly steed, I fared from my father's castle to offer my sword to a mighty king. His name? Sir Hocus tapped his forehead, uncertainly. Go to, I have forgot. Could it have been King Arthur? Exclaimed Dorothy, wide-eyed with interest. Why, just think of your being still alive. That's just the point. Choked the knight. I've been alive, still, so still, that I've forgotten everything. Why, I can't even remember how I used to talk. He confessed miserably. But how did you get here? Rumbled the cowardly lion who did not like being left out of the conversation. I had barely left my father's castle before I met a stranger. Said Sir Hocus, sitting up very straight. Who challenged me to battle? I spurred my horse forward, our lances met, and the stranger was unseated. But by my faith, it was no mortal knight. Sir Hocus sighed deeply and lapsed into silence. What happened? Asked Dorothy curiously, for Sir Hocus seemed to have forgotten them. The knight. Said he with another mighty sigh. Struck the ground with his lance and cried, Live, wretch, for centuries in the stupidest country out of the world, and disappeared. And here, here I am. With a despairing gesture, Sir Hocus arose, big tears splashing down his armor. I feel that I am brave, very brave. But how am I to know until I have encountered danger? Ah, friends. Beholding me a knight who has never had a real adventure, never killed a dragon, nor championed a lady, nor gone on a quest. Dropping on his knees before the little girl, Sir Hocus took her hand. Let me go with you on this quest for the valiant scarecrow. Let me be your good knight. He begged eagerly. Good night. Coughed to the cowardly lion, who, to tell the truth, was feeling a bit jealous. But Dorothy was thrilled, and as Sir Hocus continued to look at her pleadingly, she took off her hair ribbon and bound it round his arm. You shall be my own true knight. And I, your lady, fare. She announced solemnly, and exactly as she had read in books. At this interesting juncture, the cowardly lion gave a tremendous yawn, and Sir Hocus, with an exclamation of alarm, jumped to his feet. The pokes had returned to the hall, and Dorothy felt herself falling asleep again. Up, up, my lesions! And away! We take the field again. For ladies, fare, we fight today. And king, up, up, my merry men! Shreeled the knight as if he were leading an army to battle. The pokes opened both eyes, but did not immediately retire. Sir Hocus bravely swallowed a yawn, and hastily clearing his throat, shouted another song, which he evidently made up on the spur of the moment. Avant, be off, be gone, me thinks. There will be a sleep in forty winks. This time the pokes left sullenly, but the effect of their presence had thrown Dorothy, the cowardly lion, and the knight into a violent fit of the gates. If I fall asleep, nothing can save you, said Sir Hocus in an agitated voice. Ah, oh, oh, ah. The knight's eyes closed. Don't do it, don't do it! Begged Dorothy, shaking him violently. Can't we run away? I've been trying for five centuries! Wailed the knight in a discouraged voice, but I always fall asleep before I reach the gate. And they bring me back here. They're rather fond of me in their slow way. He added apologetically. Couldn't you keep singing? Asked the cowardly lion anxiously for the prospect of a five-century stay in pokes was more than he could bear. Couldn't we all sing? Suggested Dorothy. Surely all three of us won't fall asleep at once. I'm not much of a singer. Grown to the cowardly lion, beginning to tremble. But I'm willing to do my share. I like you. Said Sir Hocus, going over and thumping the cowardly lion approvingly on the back. You ought to be knighted. The lion blinked his eyes for Sir Hocus's iron fist, bruised him severely, but knowing it was kindly meant, he bore it bravely. I am henceforth a benighted lion. He whispered to Dorothy while Sir Hocus was straightening his armor. Next the knight took down an iron poker which he handed to Dorothy. To wake us up with. He explained. And now, Lady Dorothy, if you are ready, we will start on the quest for the honorable scarecrow. And remember, everybody sing. Sing for your life! End of chapter five. Chapter six of the Royal Book of Oz. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Royal Book of Oz by Ruth Plumlee Thompson. Chapter six, singing their way out of pokes. Taking a deep breath, Sir Hocus, the cowardly lion and Dorothy burst out of the hall singing at the top of their voices. Three blind mice sang Dorothy. Across the plain shouted Sir Hocus. I am the cowardly lion of Oz roared the lion. The pokes were so taken aback at the horrid sounds that they ran scurrying right and left. In another minute, the three were out of the castle and singing their way through the gloomy garden. Dorothy stuck to the three blind mice. Sir Hocus sang verse after verse of an old English ballad and the cowardly lion roared and gurgled a song of his own making, which, considering it was a first attempt, was not so bad. I am the cowardly lion of Oz. Be good, be gone, beware, because when I am scared full fierce I be, brah, gruff, gruff, look out for me. The pokes stumbled this way and that and all went well until they rushed into a company of pokes who were playing croquet. The slowness with which they raised their mallets fascinated Dorothy and she stopped to watch them in spite of herself. Don't stop, sing. Growled the cowardly lion in the middle of a line. To make up for lost time, Dorothy closed her eyes and sang harder than ever, but alas, next instant she fell over a wicket which so deprived her of breath that she could barely scramble up, let alone sing. As soon as she stopped singing, the pokes paused in their flight and as soon as they paused, Dorothy began to gape. Singing for dear life, Sir Hocus jerked Dorothy by the arm and the cowardly lion roared so loud that the pokes covered their ears and began backing away. There was a knight, come on, come on. Sang Sir Hocus and Dorothy came and in a few minutes was able to take up the three blind mice again, but running and singing at the same time is not an easy task and running through pokes is like trying to run through water. You know how hard that is? Three blind mice, three can't sing another note. Gasp, poor Dorothy, was stumbling along while the cowardly lion was puffing like an engine. The pokes in the garden had recovered from their first alarm and were following at a safe distance. The gates of the city were only a short distance off, but it seemed to Dorothy that she could not go another step. A large group of pokes had gathered at the gates and unless they could sing their way through, they would fall asleep and be carried ignominiously back to the castle. Now! Weezed, Sir Hocus. Remember, it is for the scarecrow. All of them swallowed, took a deep breath and put their last remaining strength into their voices, but a wily poke who had stuffed some cotton in his ears now approached, pushing a little cart. Take. He drawled and before Dorothy realized what she was doing, she had accepted a cone from the poke. Ah, okay. Spluttered Dorothy and with a deep sigh of delight, she took a large bite of the pink ice cream. How cool it felt on her dry throat. She opened her mouth for a second taste, yawned terrifically, and fell with a thud to the stone pavement. Dorothy! Wailed Sir Hocus, stopping short in his song and bending over the little girl. The poor cowardly lion gave a gulp of despair and began running around the two, roaring and singing in a choked voice. The pokes nodded to each other in a pleased fashion and the chief poker started cautiously toward them with a long, thick rope. The cowardly lion redoubled his efforts. Then, seeing Sir Hocus about to fall, he jumped on the night with all his strength. Down crashed Sir Hocus, his armor clanging against the stones that paved the gateway. Sing! Roared the cowardly lion, glaring at him fiercely. The fall wakened the poor night, but he had not the strength to rise. Sitting on the hard stones and looking reproachfully at the cowardly lion, he began his ballad in a half-hearted fashion. The cowardly lion's heart was like to burst between lack of breath and fear, but making one last tremendous effort and still roaring his song, he bounded at the chief poker, seized the rope, and was back before the stupid creature had time to yawn. Tie it around your waist. Take Dorothy in your arms. Gasp the cowardly lion out of the corner of his mouth. Sir Hocus, though completely dazed, had just enough presence of mind to obey, and the next minute, the cowardly lion, growling between his teeth like a good fellow, was dashing through the group of pokes, the other end of the rope in his mouth. Bumpity bump bump bump, bangity bang bang, went Sir Hocus over the cobbles, holding his helmet with one hand and Dorothy fast in the other arm. The pokes fell this way and that, and such was the determination of the cowardly lion that he never stopped till he was out of the gate and halfway up the rough road they had so recently traveled. Then with a mighty sigh, he dropped the rope, rolled over and over down the hill, and lay panting with exhaustion at the bottom. The bumping over the cobbles had wakened Sir Hocus thoroughly. Indeed, the poor knight was black and blue, and his armor dented and scraped frightfully in important places. Dorothy, considerably shaken, opened her eyes and began feebly singing three blind mice. No need. Puffed Sir Hocus, lifting her off his lap and rising stiffly. Yon noble beast has rescued us. Won't the pokes come up here? Asked Dorothy, staring around a bit dizzily. They cannot live out of the kingdom. Said the knight and Dorothy drew a big sigh of relief. Sir Hocus, however, was looking very grave. I have failed on my first adventure. Had it not been for the cowardly lion, we would now be prisoners in pokes. He murmured sadly. Then he unfastened the plume from his helmet. It besemeth me not to wear it. Side the knight mournfully, and though Dorothy tried her best to comfort him, he refused to put it back. Finally she fastened the plume to her dress and they went down to the cowardly lion. There was a little spring nearby and after they had poured six helmets of water over his head, the lion opened his eyes. Ben, in a good many fights. Gasp'd the lion. But I never thought one like this, singing ba. Noble Sir, how can I ever repay you? Faltered the knight. Alas, that I have failed in the hour of trial. Why, it wasn't a question of courage at all. Rumbled the cowardly lion, greatly embarrassed. I had the loudest voice in the most breath. That's all. You got the rough end of it. Sir Hocus looked ruefully at his armor. The back was entirely squashed. Never mind. Said the knight bravely. It is the front one presents to the foe. Now you're talking like a real knight. Said Dorothy. A while ago you said yawn and besemeth. And first thing you know, the talk will all come back to you. Sir Hocus's honest face shown with pleasure. Ah, it's bludgeons and trechins. The little maid is right. He exclaimed striking an attitude. And once it does, the rest will be easy. Don't say the rest to me. Begged the cowardly lion, getting slowly to his feet. Oh, oh, oh, just to think of it makes me yawn. Now don't you think we had better start off? If you're rested. Began Dorothy. The cowardly lion put his paw over his ear and looked so comical that both Dorothy and Sir Hocus laughed heartily. If you're ready. Amended Dorothy. And the three adventurers started up the steep road. The first thing to do. Said the little girl. Is to get back to the emerald city as quickly as we can. At this very minute, Glinda, the good sorceress of Oz, in her palace in the quadling country, was puzzling over an entry in the magic record book. This book tells everything that is happening in the world and out, and while it does not give details, it is a very useful possession. The Emperor of the Seven Islands, read Glinda, has returned to his people. Now who is the Emperor of the Silver Islands? She asked herself. She puzzled about it for a long while and then, deciding that it had nothing to do with the fairy kingdom of Oz, she closed the book and went for a walk in the palace garden. Dorothy and Sir Hocus and the cowardly lion had meanwhile reached the first sign in the dim forest, the sign directing travelers to pokes. Two roads branched out through the forest and after much debating, they took the wider. Do you suppose this leads to the emerald city? Asked the cowardly lion dubiously. Time will tell. Time will tell. Said Sir Hocus cheerfully. Yes. murmured the cowardly lion. Time will tell. But what? End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of the Royal Book of Oz. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Royal Book of Oz by Ruth Plumlee Thompson Chapter 7 The Scarecrow is Hailed as Emperor Leaning forward on the Great Throne, the Scarecrow waited impatiently for the ancient gentleman to speak. The grey-skinned courtiers were eyeing him expectantly, and just as the suspense became almost unendurable, the old man threw up his arms and cried sharply. The prophecy of the magic beanstalk has been fulfilled in this radiant and sublime Scarecrocus, the spirit of Chang Wang Woe, the mighty has returned, and I, the grand choo-choo of the realm, prostrate myself before this wonderful Scarecrocus, Emperor of the Silver Islands. So likewise did all the company present, and the Scarecrow, taken unawares, flew up several feet and landed in a heap on the steps leading to the throne. He climbed back hurriedly, picking up the fan and parasol that he had plucked from the beanstalk. I wish Professor Wogglebug could hear this. Said the Scarecrow, settling himself complacently. But I must watch out, and remember to hold on. The grand choo-choo was the first to rise, and folding his arms he asked solemnly, What are your commands, ancient and honorable Scarecrocus? If you'd just omit the cuss. Begged the Scarecrow in an embarrassed voice. I believe I could think better. Am I in China, or where? Are you Chinamen, or what? We are silvermen. Said the grand choo-choo impressively. And a much older race than our Chinese cousins. They are people of the sun. We are people of the stars. Has your highness so soon forgotten? I am afraid. Said the Scarecrow, rubbing his chin reflectively. That I have. He gazed slowly around the great throne room. Osmos Palace itself was not more dazzling. The floor of dull silver blocks was covered with rich blue rugs. Furniture, chairs, screens, and everything were made of silver inlaid with precious stones. Filigreed silver lanterns hung from the high ceilings, and tall silver vases filled with pink and blue blossoms filled the rooms with their perfume. Blue flags embroidered with silver stars fluttered from the walls and the tips of the pike bearer's spears, and silver seemed to be so plentiful that even shoes were fashioned of it. Faintly through the windows came the sweet tones of a hundred silver chimes, and altogether the Scarecrow was quite dazed by his apparent good fortune. Surely they had called him emperor, but how could that be? He turned to address the grand choo-choo, then as he saw out of the corner of his eye that the assemblage were making ready to fall upon their faces, he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. May I speak to you alone? The grand choo-choo waved his hand imperiously in the courtiers with a great crackling of silver brocade backed from the hall. Very kind of them to bow, but I wish they wouldn't. Sighed the Scarecrow, sinking back on the great throne. It blows one about so. I declare, if another person falls at my feet, I'll have nervous prostration. Again he took a long survey of the hall, then turned to the grand choo-choo. Would you mind? He asked simply. Telling me again who I am and how? Who and how? Who? You are illustrious, sir, the emperor Chang Wang Wo, or to be more exact, his spirit. I have always been a spirited person. Observe the Scarecrow dubiously. But never a spirit without a person. I must insist on being a person. How? The grand choo-choo proceeded without noticing the Scarecrow's remarks. Fifty years ago, after your extreme highness had defeated in battle the king of the Golden Islands, a magician entered the realm. This magician and the employee of this wicked king entered a room in the palace where your Highness lay sleeping and by an act of necromancy changed you to a crocus. Ouch! Exclaim the Scarecrow shuddering involuntarily. And had it not been for the Empress, your faithful wife, you would have been lost forever to the empire. Wife! Gasped the Scarecrow faintly. Have I a wife? If your highness will permit me to finish. Begged the grand choo-choo with great dignity. The Scarecrow nodded. Your wife, Sing Sing the Beautiful, took the crocus, which was fading rapidly, and planted it in a silver bowl in the centre of this very hall and for three days kept it fresh with her tears. Waking on the third morning, the Empress was amazed to see in place of the crocus a giant beanpole that extended to the roof of the palace and disappeared among the clouds. Ah! Murmured the Scarecrow looking up. My family tree. Beside the beanpole lay a crumpled parchment. The grand choo-choo felt in the sleeve of his kimono and brought out a bit of crumpled silver paper and, adjusting his horn spectacles, read slowly. Into the first being who touches this magic pole on the other side of the world, the spirit of Emperor Chang Wang Wo will enter and 50 years from this day he will return to save his people. The grand choo-choo took off his specs and folded up the paper. The day has come. You have come down the beanpole and are undoubtedly that being who has gone from emperor to crocus to Scarecrowcus. I have ruled the islands these 50 years have seen to the education of your sons and grandsons and now gracious and exalted master as I am an old man I ask you to relieve me from the cares of state. Sons, grandsons! Choked the Scarecrow beginning to feel very much alarmed indeed. How old am I? Your Highness. Said the grand choo-choo with a deep salam. Is as old as I. In other words you are in the ripe and glorious 85th year of your Majesty's illustrious and useful age. 85? Gasped the Scarecrow staring in dismay at the gray wrinkled face of the old Silverman. Now see here choo-choo. Are you sure of that? Quite sure immortal and honoured master. The Scarecrow could not help but be convinced of the truth of the grand choo-choo's story. The pole in the Munchkin Farmer's cornfield was none other than the magic beanstalk and he thrust on the pole by the farmer to scare away the crows had received the spirit of the Emperor Chang Wang Wo. Which accounts for my cleverness. He thought gloomily. Now surely he should have been pleased for he had come in search of a family but the acquisition of an empire, sons and grandsons and old age all in a trice fairly took his breath away. Does the prophecy say anything about restoring my imperial person? He asked anxiously for the thought of looking like choo-choo was not a cheerful one. Alas, no. Side the grand choo-choo sorrowfully. But we have very clever wizards on the island and I shall set them at work on the problem at once. Now don't be in such a rush. Beg the Scarecrow secretly determined to lock up the wizards at the first opportunity. I'm rather fond of this shape. You see, it requires no food and never grows tired or old. The royal robes will in a measure conceal it. murmured the grand choo-choo politely and clapped his hands. A little servitor bounced into the hall. A royal robe, quicksilver, for his radiant highness. snapped the grand choo-choo. In a moment, quicksilver had returned with a magnificent purple satin robe embroidered in silver threads and heavy with jewels, and a hat of silver cloth with upturned brim. The Scarecrow wrapped himself in the purple robe, took off his old munchkin hat, and substituted the imperial headpiece. How do I look, choo? He asked anxiously. Quite like your old imperial self, except... The old prime minister ran unsteadily out of the room. There was a muffled scream from the hall, and the next instant he returned with a long, shiny, silver cue he had evidently clipped from the head of one of the servants. Removing the Scarecrow's hat, he pinned to the cue to the back, set it on the Scarecrow's head, and stood regarding him with great satisfaction. Ah, if the empress could only see you. He murmured rapturously. Where...? Where is she? Asked the Scarecrow, looking around nervously. His long carefree life in Oz had somewhat unfitted him, he reflected, for family life. Alas! sighed the grand choo-choo, wiping his eye on the sleeve of his kimono. She has returned to her silver ancestors. Then show me her picture. Commanded the Scarecrow, visibly affected. The grand choo-choo stepped to a side wall, and pulling on a silken cord, disclosed the picture of a large, grey lady, with curiously small eyes and a curiously large nose. Is she not beautiful? Asked the grand choo-choo, bowing his head. Beautiful! sighed the grand choo-choo, bowing his head. Beautiful! Gulped the Scarecrow. He thought of lovely little Osma and dear little Dorothy, and all at once felt terribly upset and homesick. He had no recollection of the Silver Island or his life here whatever. Who was he anyway? The Scarecrow of Oz, or Emperor Chang Wang Wo? He couldn't be both. Ah! Whispered grand choo-choo, seeing his agitation. You remember her? The Scarecrow shook his head with an inward shutter. Now show me myself, choo. He asked curiously, pulling the cord of a portrait beside the Empress. Choo-choo revealed the picture of Chang Wang Wo, as he had been fifty years ago. His face was bland and jolly, and to be perfectly truthful, quite like the Scarecrow's in shape and expression. I am beside myself! murmured the Scarecrow daisily, which in truth he was. You were, er, are a very royal and handsome person. stammered the grand choo-choo. The Scarecrow stepping off the throne to examine himself more closely dropped the little fan and parasol. He had really not had time to examine them since they snapped off the beanstalk, and now, looking at them carefully, he found them extremely pretty. Dorothy will like these. thought the Scarecrow, slipping them into a large inside pocket of his robe. Already in the back of his head was a queer notion that he would, at some time or other, return to Oz. He started to give the grand choo-choo a spirited description of that wonderful country, but the ancient gentleman yawned, and waving his hands toward the door, interrupted him with, Would not your supreme Highness care to inspect your present dominions? I suppose I may as well. With a deep sigh, the Scarecrow took the grand choo-choo's arm and, holding up his royal kimono, which was rather long with the other hand, walked unsteadily down the great salon. They were about to pass into the garden when a little fat silver men slid around the door, a huge silver drumstick upraised in his right hand, and a great drum hung about his neck. The drummer beamed on the Scarecrow. Chang wang wo the beautiful, the beautiful has come. Sublime and silver Scarecrow, let sound the royal drum. Chanted the little man in a high, thin voice, and started to bring the drumstick down upon the huge head of his noisy instrument. No, you don't. Cried the Scarecrow, leaping forward and catching his arm. I positively forbid it. Then I shall have no work. Screamed the drummer, falling on his face. Ah, gracious master, don't you remember me? Yes. Said the Scarecrow kindly. Who are you? Oh, don't you remember Little Happy Toko? Weas the little man, the tears rolling down his cheeks. I was only a boy, but you used to be fond of me. Why, of course, my dear Tappy. Said the Scarecrow, not liking to hurt the little fellow's feelings. But why do you beat the drum? It is customary to sound the drum at the approach of your royal highness. Put in the grand choo-choo, importantly. Was customary. Said the Scarecrow firmly. My dear Tappy Toko, never sound it in my presence again. It is too upsetting. Which was true enough, for one blow of the drum sent the flimsy Scarecrow flying into the air. You're dismissed, Happy. Snapped the grand choo-choo. At this, the little silver islander began weeping and roaring with distress. Stop. What else can you do besides beat a drum? Ask the Scarecrow kindly. I can sing, stand on my head, and tell jokes. Sniffed Happy Toko, shuffling from one foot to the other. Very good. Said the Scarecrow. You are henceforth an imperial punster to my person. Come along. We're going to look over the island. The grand choo-choo frowned so terribly that Happy Toko's knees shook with terror. It is not fitting for a slave to accompany the grand choo-choo and the emperor. He hissed angrily. The Scarecrow looked surprised, for the kingdom of Oz is quite democratic, and no one is considered better than another. But seeing this was not the time to argue, he winked broadly behind the grand choo-choo's back. I'll see you again, Happy, my boy. He called genially, and passed out into the garden, where a magnificent silver palanquin, surrounded by pikemen and shield-bearers, awaited him. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of the Royal Book of Oz This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Royal Book of Oz by Ruth Plumlee Thompson. Chapter 8 The Scarecrow Studies, The Silver Island Two days had passed since the Scarecrow had fallen into his kingdom. He was not finding his royal duties as pleasant as he had anticipated. The country was beautiful enough, but being emperor of the Silver Islands was not the simple affair that ruling Oz had been. The big tail on the back of his hat was terribly distracting, and he was always tripping over his kimono, to which he could not seem to accustom himself. His subjects were extremely quarrelsome, always pulling one another's cues or stealing fruit, umbrellas, and silver polish. His ministers, the Grand Choo Choo, the Chief Chow Chow, and General Mugwump, were no better, and keeping peace in the palace took all the Scarecrow's cleverness. In the daytime he tried culprits in the royal court, interviewed his seventeen secretaries, rode out in the royal palanquin, and made speeches to visiting princes. At night he sat in the great silver salon, and by the light of the lanterns, studied the book of ceremonies. His etiquette, the Grand Choo Choo, informed him, was shocking. He was always doing something wrong, dodging the imperial umbrella, speaking kindly to a palace servant, or walking unattended in the gardens. The royal palace itself was richly furnished, and the Scarecrow had more than five hundred robes of state. The gardens, with their sparkling waterfalls, glowing orange trees, silver temples, towers, and bridges, were too lovely for words. Poppies, roses, lotus, and other lilies perfumed the air, and at night a thousand silver lanterns turned them into a veritable fairyland. The grass and trees were green as in other lands, but the sky as always full of tiny silver clouds. The waters surrounding the island were of a lovely liquid silver, and as all the houses and towers were of this gleaming metal, the effect was bewildering and beautiful. But the silver islanders themselves were too stupid to appreciate this beauty. And what use is it all when I have no one to enjoy it with me? Side the Scarecrow. And no time to play? In Oz no one thought it queer if Ozma, the little queen, jumped rope with Dorothy or Betsy Bobbin, or had a quiet game of croquet with the palace cook. But here alas, everything was different. If the Scarecrow so much as ventured a game of ball with the gardener's boy, the whole court was thrown into an uproar. At first the Scarecrow tried to please everybody, but finding that nothing pleased the people in the palace, he decided to please himself. I don't care at Kinkajou if I am the emperor. I'm going to talk to whom I please. He exclaimed on the second night, and shaking his glove at a bronze statue, he threw the book of ceremonies into the fountain. The next morning, therefore, he ascended the throne with great firmness. Immediately the courtiers prostrated themselves, and the Scarecrow's arms and legs blew about wildly. Stand up at once! Puffed the Scarecrow, and he had regained his balance. You are giving me nervous prostration. Chew, kindly issue an edict forbidding prostrations. Anyone caught bowing in my presence again shall lose. The courtiers looked alarmed. His pigtail. Finished the Scarecrow. And now, Chew, you will take my place, please. I am going for a walk with Tappy Oko. The grand Chew Chew's mouth fell open with surprise, but seeing the Scarecrow's determined expression he dared not disobey, and he immediately began making strange marks on a long red parchment. Happy Toko trembled as the Scarecrow Emperor took his arm, and the courtiers stared at one another in dismay as the two walked quietly out into the garden. Nothing happened, however, and Tappy, regaining his composure, took out a little silver flute and started a lively tune. I had to take matters into my own hands, Tappy. Said the Scarecrow, listening to the music with a pleased expression. Are there any words to that song? Yes, illustrious and supreme, sir. Two spoons went down a porcelain to meet the china saucer, a talk in china in a way to break a white man's saucer. Sang happy, and finished by standing gravely on his head. Your majesty used to be very fond of this song. Spluttered happy. It is difficult to speak while upside down, and if you don't think so, try it. Ah! said the Scarecrow, beginning to feel more cheerful. Tell me something about myself and my family, Tappy Oko. Happy toko, if it pleases your supreme amiability. Corrected the little silver man, somersaulting to a standstill beside the Scarecrow. It does, and it doesn't. Murmured the Scarecrow. There's something about you that reminds me of a pudding. And you tapped the drum, didn't you? I believe I shall call you Tappy Oko if you don't mind. The Scarecrow seated himself on a silver bench and motioned for the imperial punster to sit down beside him. Tappy Oko sat down fearfully, first making sure that he was not observed. Saving your imperial presence, this is not permitted. Said Tappy uneasily. Never mind about my imperial presence. Chuckled the Scarecrow. Tell me about my imperial past. Ah! Said Tappy Oko, rolling up his eyes. You were one of the most magnificent and magnanimous of monarchs. Was I? Asked the Scarecrow in a pleased voice. You distributed rice among the poor and advice among the rich and fought many glorious battles. Continued the little man. I composed a little song about you. Perhaps you would like to hear it. The Scarecrow nodded and Tappy, throwing back his head, chanted with a will. Chang Wangwo did draw the bow and twist the cues of a thousand foes. In awe's. Murmured the Scarecrow reflectively as Tappy finished. I twisted the necks of a flock of wild crows. That was before I had my excellent brains, too. Oh, I'm a fighting man. There's no doubt about it. But tell me, Tappy, where did I meet my wife? In the water. Chuckled Tappy Oko, screwing up his eyes. Ever. The Scarecrow looked out over the harbour and then down at his lumpy figure. Your Majesty forgets you were then a man like me. Not stuff was straw, I mean. Exclaimed Tappy, looking embarrassed. She was fishing. Continued the little punster. When a huge silver fish became entangled in her line. She stood up, the fish gave a mighty leap and pulled her out of the boat. Your Majesty, having seen the whole affair from the bank, plunged bravely into the water and, swimming out, rescued her, freed the fish, and in due time made her your bride. I made a song about that also. Let's hear it. Said the Scarecrow, and this is what happy sung. Sing, sing, a silver fishers daughter was fishing in the silver water. The moon shone on her silver hair and there were fishes everywhere. Then came a mighty silver fish. It seized her line and with a swish of silver fins upset her boat. Sing, sing, could neither swim nor float. She raised her silver voice in fear and who her call of help should hear. But Chang Wang Woe, the emperor, who saved and married her what's more. Did I really? Asked the Scarecrow, feeling quite flattered by happy song. Yes. Said happy positively. And invited me to the wedding, though I was only a small boy. Was Chu Chu there? The Scarecrow couldn't help wondering how the old nobleman had taken his marriage with a poor fisherman's daughter. Happy chuckled at the memory. He had a princess all picked out for you. He confided merrily. And there he stood in awful pride and scorned the father of the bride. Roared the Scarecrow falling off the bench. That's the Aussiest thing I've heard since I landed at the Silver Islands. Tappy, my boy. I believe we are going to be friends. But let's forget the past and think of the present. The Scarecrow embraced his imperial punster on the spot. Let's find something jolly to do. He suggested. Would your extreme highness care for kites? Asked happy. Tis a favourite sport here. Would I? But wait. I will disguise myself. Hiding his royal hat under the bench, he put on Happy Toko's broad-rimmed peasant hat. It turned down all round and almost hid his face. Then he turned his robe inside out and declared himself ready. They passed through a small silver town before they reached the field where the kites were to be flown, and the Scarecrow was delighted with its picturesque and quaint appearance. The streets were narrow and full of queer shops. Silver lanterns and little penance hung from each door. The merchants and maidens in their gay sedans and the people of foot made a bright and lovely picture. If I could just live here instead of in the palace. Mused the Scarecrow, pausing before a modest rice shop. It is dangerous to stop in the narrow street, and Happy jerked his master aside just in time to prevent his being trodden on by a huge camel. It sniffed at the Scarecrow suspiciously, and they were forced to flatten themselves against a wall to let it pass. Happy anxiously hurried the emperor through the town, and soon they arrived at the kite-flying field. A great throng had gathered to watch the exhibition, and there were more kites than one would see in a lifetime here. Huge fish, silver paper dragons, birds, every sort and shape of kite was tugging at its string, and hundreds of silver islanders, boys, girls, and grown-ups were looking on. How interesting! said the Scarecrow, fascinated by a huge dragon that floated just over his head. I wish Dorothy could see this, I do indeed. But the dragon kite seemed almost alive and horrors. Just as it swooped down a hook in the tail caught in the Scarecrow's collar, and before Happy Toko could even wink, the emperor of the silver islands was sailing towards the clouds. The Scarecrow, as you must know, weighs almost nothing, and the people shouted with glee for they thought him a dummy man and part of the performance. But Happy Toko ran after the kite as fast as his fat little legs would carry him. Alas! Alas! I shall lose my position! Wailed Happy Toko, quite convinced that the Scarecrow would be dashed to pieces on the rocks. Oh, putty head that I am to set myself against the Grand Chuchu! The Scarecrow, however, after recovering from the first shock, began to enjoy himself. Holding fast to the dragon's tail, he looked down with great interest upon his dominions. Rocks, mountains, tall silver pagodas, drooping willow trees flashed beneath him. Truly a beautiful island. His gaze strayed over the silver waters surrounding the island, and he was astonished to see a great fleet sailing into the harbor. A great fleet of singular vessels with silk and sails. What's this? Thought the Scarecrow. But just then the dragon kite became suddenly possessed. It jerked him up, it jerked him down, and shook him this way and that. His hat flew off, his arms and legs whirled wildly, and pieces of straw began to float downward. Then the hook ripped and tore through his coat, and, making a terrible slit in his back, came out. Down, down, down flashed the Scarecrow and landed in a heap on the rocks. Poor Happy Toko rushed toward him with streaming eyes. O radiant and immortal Scarecrowcus, what have they done to you? He moaned, dropping on his knees beside the flimsy shape of the emperor. Merely knocked out my honorable stuffing. Mumbled the Scarecrow. Now, Tappy, my dear fellow, will you just turn me over? There's a rock in my eye that keeps me from thinking. Happy Toko, at the sound of a voice from the rumpled heap of clothing, gave a great leap. Is there any straw about? Asked the Scarecrow anxiously. Why don't you turn me over? What's his ghost? Moaned Happy Toko, and because he dared not disobey a royal ghost, he turned the Scarecrow over with trembling hands. Don't be alarmed. Said the Scarecrow, smiling reassuringly. I'm not breakable like you meet people. A little straw will make me good as new. A little straw. Straw, do you hear? For Happy's pigtail was still on end, and he was shaking so that his silver shoes clattered on the rocks. I command you to fetch straw. Cried the Scarecrow at last in an angry voice. Happy dashed away. When he returned with an armful of straw, the Scarecrow managed to convince him that he was quite alive. It is impossible to kill a person from Oz. He explained proudly. And that is why my present figure is so much more satisfactory than yours. I do not have to eat or sleep and can always be repaired. Have you some safety pins? Happy produced several, and under the Scarecrow's direction stuffed out his chest and pinned up his wrens. Let us return. Said the Scarecrow. I've had enough pleasure for one day. And can't you sing something, Tappy? Running in fright had somewhat affected Happy's voice, but he squeaked out a funny little song, and the two, keeping time to the tune, came without further mishap to the Imperial Gardens. Happy had just set the royal hat upon the Scarecrow's head and brushed off his robes when a company of courtiers dashed out of the palace door and came running toward them. Great cornstarch! exclaimed the Scarecrow, sitting heavily down on the silver bench. What's the matter now? Here are all the pig heads on the island, and look how old Chu-Chu is puffing. One would expect the Chu-Chu to puff. Observed happy slyly. One would. But he got no further, for the whole company was upon them. Save us! Save us! Wailed the courtiers, forgetting the royal edict and falling on their faces. What from? Asked the Scarecrow, holding fast to the silver bench. The king! The king of a golden island! Shrieked the Grand Chu-Chu. Ah, yes. Murmured the Scarecrow, frowning thoughtfully. Was that his fleet coming into the harbour? The Grand Chu-Chu jumped up in astonishment. How could your highness say the fleet from here? He stuttered. Not from here. There. Said the Scarecrow, pointing upward and winking at happy toko. My highness goes very high, you see. Your majesty does not seem to realise the seriousness of the matter. Choked the Grand Chu-Chu. He will set fire to the island and make us all slaves. At this the courtiers began banging their heads distractedly on the grass. Set fire to the island. Exclaimed the Scarecrow, jumping to his feet. Then peace to my ashes. Tappy, will you see that they are sent back to Oz? Save us! Save us! Screamed the frightened silverman. The prophecy of the beanstalk has promised that you would save us. You are the emperor, Chang Wang Wo. Persisted the Grand Chu-Chu, waving his long arms. Wo is me. Murmured the Scarecrow, clasping his yellow gloves. But let me think. End of chapter 8