The Emerald City of Oz by Lyman Frank Baum (best free e book reader .TXT) 📖

like all other white rabbits. But the astonishing thing about him was the manner in which he was dressed. He wore a white satin jacket embroidered with gold, and having diamond buttons. His vest was rose-colored satin, with tourmaline buttons. His trousers were white, to correspond with the jacket, and they were baggy at the knees—like those of a zouave—being tied with knots of rose ribbons. His shoes were of white plush with diamond buckles, and his stockings were rose silk.

The richness and even magnificence of the rabbit’s clothing made Dorothy stare at the little creature wonderingly. Toto and Billina had followed her into the room and when he saw them the rabbit ran to a table and sprang upon it nimbly. Then he looked at the three through his monocle and said:

“These companions, Princess, cannot enter Bunnybury with you.”

“Why not?” asked Dorothy.

“In the first place they would frighten our people, who dislike dogs above all things on earth; and, secondly, the letter of the Royal Ozma does not mention them.”

“But they’re my friends,” persisted Dorothy, “and go wherever I go.”

“Not this time,” said the rabbit, decidedly. “You, yourself, Princess, are a welcome visitor, since you come so highly recommended; but unless you consent to leave the dog and the hen in this room I cannot permit you to enter the town.”

“Never mind us, Dorothy,” said Billina. “Go inside and see what the place is like. You can tell us about it afterward, and Toto and I will rest comfortably here until you return.”

This seemed the best thing to do, for Dorothy was curious to see how the rabbit people lived and she was aware of the fact that her friends might frighten the timid little creatures. She had not forgotten how Toto and Billina had misbehaved in Bunbury, and perhaps the rabbit was wise to insist on their staying outside the town.

“Very well,” she said, “I’ll go in alone. I s’pose you’re the King of this town, aren’t you?”

“No,” answered the rabbit, “I’m merely the Keeper of the Wicket, and a person of little importance, although I try to do my duty. I must now inform you, Princess, that before you enter our town you must consent to reduce.”

“Reduce what?” asked Dorothy.

“Your size. You must become the size of the rabbits, although you may retain your own form.”

“Wouldn’t my clothes be too big for me?” she inquired.

“No; they will reduce when your body does.”

“Can YOU make me smaller?” asked the girl.

“Easily,” returned the rabbit.

“And will you make me big again, when I’m ready to go away?”

“I will,” said he.

“All right, then; I’m willing,” she announced.

The rabbit jumped from the table and ran—or rather hopped—to the further wall, where he opened a door so tiny that even Toto could scarcely have crawled through it.

“Follow me,” he said.

Now, almost any other little girl would have declared that she could not get through so small a door; but Dorothy had already encountered so many fairy adventures that she believed nothing was impossible in the Land of Oz. So she quietly walked toward the door, and at every step she grew smaller and smaller until, by the time the opening was reached, she could pass through it with ease. Indeed, as she stood beside the rabbit, who sat upon his hind legs and used his paws as hands, her head was just about as high as his own.

Then the Keeper of the Wicket passed through and she followed, after which the door swung shut and locked itself with a sharp click.

Dorothy now found herself in a city so strange and beautiful that she gave a gasp of surprise. The high marble wall extended all around the place and shut out all the rest of the world. And here were marble houses of curious forms, most of them resembling overturned kettles but with delicate slender spires and minarets running far up into the sky. The streets were paved with white marble and in front of each house was a lawn of rich green clover. Everything was as neat as wax, the green and white contrasting prettily together.

But the rabbit people were, after all, the most amazing things Dorothy saw. The streets were full of them, and their costumes were so splendid that the rich dress of the Keeper of the Wicket was commonplace when compared with the others. Silks and satins of delicate hues seemed always used for material, and nearly every costume sparkled with exquisite gems.

But the lady rabbits outshone the gentlemen rabbits in splendor, and the cut of their gowns was really wonderful. They wore bonnets, too, with feathers and jewels in them, and some wheeled baby carriages in which the girl could see wee bunnies. Some were lying asleep while others lay sucking their paws and looking around them with big pink eyes.

As Dorothy was no bigger in size than the grown-up rabbits she had a chance to observe them closely before they noticed her presence. Then they did not seem at all alarmed, although the little girl naturally became the center of attraction and regarded her with great curiosity.

“Make way!” cried the Keeper of the Wicket, in a pompous voice; “make way for Princess Dorothy, who comes from Ozma of Oz.”

Hearing this announcement, the throng of rabbits gave place to them on the walks, and as Dorothy passed along they all bowed their heads respectfully.

Walking thus through several handsome streets they came to a square in the center of the City. In this square were some pretty trees and a statue in bronze of Glinda the Good, while beyond it were the portals of the Royal Palace—an extensive and imposing building of white marble covered with a filigree of frosted gold.

20. How Dorothy Lunched With a King

A line of rabbit soldiers was drawn up before the palace entrance, and they wore green and gold uniforms with high shakos upon their heads and held tiny spears in their hands. The Captain had a sword and a white plume in his shako.

“Salute!” called the Keeper of the Wicket. “Salute Princess Dorothy, who comes from Ozma of Oz!”

“Salute!” yelled the Captain, and all the soldiers promptly saluted.

They now entered the great hall of the palace, where they met a gaily dressed attendant, from whom the Keeper of the Wicket inquired if the King were at leisure.

“I think so,” was the reply. “I heard his Majesty blubbering and wailing as usual only a few minutes ago. If he doesn’t stop acting like a cry-baby I’m going to resign my position here and go to work.”

“What’s the matter with your King?” asked Dorothy, surprised to hear the rabbit attendant speak so disrespectfully of his monarch.

“Oh, he doesn’t want to be King, that’s all; and he simply HAS to,” was the reply.

“Come!” said the Keeper of the Wicket, sternly; “lead us to his Majesty; and do not air our troubles before strangers, I beg of you.”

“Why, if this girl is going to see the King, he’ll air his own troubles,” returned the attendant.

“That is his royal privilege,” declared the Keeper.

So the attendant led them into a room all draped with cloth-of-gold and furnished with satin-covered gold furniture. There was a throne in this room, set on a dais and having a big, cushioned seat, and on this seat reclined the Rabbit King. He was lying on his back, with his paws in the air, and whining very like a puppy-dog.

“Your Majesty! your Majesty! Get up. Here’s a visitor,” called out the attendant.

The King rolled over and looked at Dorothy with one watery pink eye. Then he sat up and wiped his eyes carefully with a silk handkerchief and put on his jeweled crown, which had fallen off.

“Excuse my grief, fair stranger,” he said, in a sad voice. “You behold in me the most miserable monarch in all the world. What time is it, Blinkem?”

“One o’clock, your Majesty,” replied the attendant to whom the question was addressed.

“Serve luncheon at once!” commanded the King. “Luncheon for two—that’s for my visitor and me—and see that the human has some sort of food she’s accustomed to.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” answered the attendant, and went away.

“Tie my shoe, Bristle,” said the King to the Keeper of the Wicket. “Ah me! how unhappy I am!”

“What seems to be worrying your Majesty?” asked Dorothy.

“Why, it’s this king business, of course,” he returned, while the Keeper tied his shoe. “I didn’t want to be King of Bunnybury at all, and the rabbits all knew it. So they elected me—to save themselves from such a dreadful fate, I suppose—and here I am, shut up in a palace, when I might be free and happy.”

“Seems to me,” said Dorothy, “it’s a great thing to be a King.”

“Were you ever a King?” inquired the monarch.

“No,” she answered, laughing.

“Then you know nothing about it,” he said. “I haven’t inquired who you are, but it doesn’t matter. While we’re at luncheon, I’ll tell you all my troubles. They’re a great deal more interesting than anything you can say about yourself.”

“Perhaps they are, to you,” replied Dorothy.

“Luncheon is served!” cried Blinkem, throwing open the door, and in came a dozen rabbits in livery, all bearing trays which they placed upon the table, where they arranged the dishes in an orderly manner.

“Now clear out—all of you!” exclaimed the King. “Bristle, you may wait outside, in case I want you.”

When they had gone and the King was alone with Dorothy he came down from his throne, tossed his crown into a corner and kicked his ermine robe under the table.

“Sit down,” he said, “and try to be happy. It’s useless for me to try, because I’m always wretched and miserable. But I’m hungry, and I hope you are.”

“I am,” said Dorothy. “I’ve only eaten a wheelbarrow and a piano to-day—oh, yes! and a slice of bread and butter that used to be a door-mat.”

“That sounds like a square meal,” remarked the King, seating himself opposite her; “but perhaps it wasn’t a square piano. Eh?”

Dorothy laughed.

“You don’t seem so very unhappy now,” she said.

“But I am,” protested the King, fresh tears gathering in his eyes. “Even my jokes are miserable. I’m wretched, woeful, afflicted, distressed and dismal as an individual can be. Are you not sorry for me?”

“No,” answered Dorothy, honestly, “I can’t say I am. Seems to me that for a rabbit you’re right in clover. This is the prettiest little city I ever saw.”

“Oh, the city is good enough,” he admitted. “Glinda, the Good Sorceress, made it for us because she was fond of rabbits. I don’t mind the City so much, although I wouldn’t live here if I had my choice. It is being King that has absolutely ruined my happiness.”

“Why wouldn’t you live here by choice?” she asked.

“Because it is all unnatural, my dear. Rabbits are out of place in such luxury. When I was young I lived in a burrow in the forest. I was surrounded by enemies and often had to run for my life. It was hard getting enough to eat, at times, and when I found a bunch of clover I had to listen and look for danger while I ate it. Wolves prowled around the hole in which I lived and sometimes I didn’t dare stir out for days at a time. Oh, how happy and contented I was then! I was a real rabbit, as nature made me—wild and free!—and I even enjoyed listening to the startled throbbing of my own heart!”

“I’ve often thought,” said Dorothy, who was busily eating, “that it would be fun to be a rabbit.”

“It IS fun—when you’re