The Patchwork Girl of Oz by Lyman Frank Baum (classic romance novels .txt) 📖

braided with gold. His shoes were of blue leather and turned up at the toes, which were pointed. His hat had a peaked crown and a flat brim, and around the brim was a row of tiny golden bells that tinkled when he moved. This was the native costume of those who inhabited the Munchkin Country of the Land of Oz, so Unc Nunkie’s dress was much like that of his nephew. Instead of shoes, the old man wore boots with turnover tops and his blue coat had wide cuffs of gold braid.

The boy noticed that his uncle had not eaten the bread, and supposed the old man had not been hungry. Ojo was hungry, though; so he divided the piece of bread upon the table and ate his half for breakfast, washing it down with fresh, cool water from the brook. Unc put the other piece of bread in his jacket pocket, after which he again said, as he walked out through the doorway: “Come.”

Ojo was well pleased. He was dreadfully tired of living all alone in the woods and wanted to travel and see people. For a long time he had wished to explore the beautiful Land of Oz in which they lived. When they were outside, Unc simply latched the door and started up the path. No one would disturb their little house, even if anyone came so far into the thick forest while they were gone.

At the foot of the mountain that separated the Country of the Munchkins from the Country of the Gillikins, the path divided. One way led to the left and the other to the right—straight up the mountain. Unc Nunkie took this right-hand path and Ojo followed without asking why. He knew it would take them to the house of the Crooked Magician, whom he had never seen but who was their nearest neighbor.

All the morning they trudged up the mountain path and at noon Unc and Ojo sat on a fallen tree-trunk and ate the last of the bread which the old Munchkin had placed in his pocket. Then they started on again and two hours later came in sight of the house of Dr. Pipt.

It was a big house, round, as were all the Munchkin houses, and painted blue, which is the distinctive color of the Munchkin Country of Oz. There was a pretty garden around the house, where blue trees and blue flowers grew in abundance and in one place were beds of blue cabbages, blue carrots and blue lettuce, all of which were delicious to eat. In Dr. Pipt’s garden grew bun-trees, cake-trees, cream-puff bushes, blue buttercups which yielded excellent blue butter and a row of chocolate-caramel plants. Paths of blue gravel divided the vegetable and flower beds and a wider path led up to the front door. The place was in a clearing on the mountain, but a little way off was the grim forest, which completely surrounded it.

Unc knocked at the door of the house and a chubby, pleasant-faced woman, dressed all in blue, opened it and greeted the visitors with a smile.

“Ah,” said Ojo; “you must be Dame Margolotte, the good wife of Dr. Pipt.”

“I am, my dear, and all strangers are welcome to my home.”

“May we see the famous Magician, Madam?”

“He is very busy just now,” she said, shaking her head doubtfully. “But come in and let me give you something to eat, for you must have traveled far in order to get our lonely place.”

“We have,” replied Ojo, as he and Unc entered the house. “We have come from a far lonelier place than this.”

“A lonelier place! And in the Munchkin Country?” she exclaimed. “Then it must be somewhere in the Blue Forest.”

“It is, good Dame Margolotte.”

“Dear me!” she said, looking at the man, “you must be Unc Nunkie, known as the Silent One.” Then she looked at the boy. “And you must be Ojo the Unlucky,” she added.

“Yes,” said Unc.

“I never knew I was called the Unlucky,” said Ojo, soberly; “but it is really a good name for me.”

“Well,” remarked the woman, as she bustled around the room and set the table and brought food from the cupboard, “you were unlucky to live all alone in that dismal forest, which is much worse than the forest around here; but perhaps your luck will change, now you are away from it. If, during your travels, you can manage to lose that ‘Un’ at the beginning of your name ‘Unlucky,’ you will then become Ojo the Lucky, which will be a great improvement.”

“How can I lose that ‘Un,’ Dame Margolotte?”

“I do not know how, but you must keep the matter in mind and perhaps the chance will come to you,” she replied.

Ojo had never eaten such a fine meal in all his life. There was a savory stew, smoking hot, a dish of blue peas, a bowl of sweet milk of a delicate blue tint and a blue pudding with blue plums in it. When the visitors had eaten heartily of this fare the woman said to them:

“Do you wish to see Dr. Pipt on business or for pleasure?”

Unc shook his head.

“We are traveling,” replied Ojo, “and we stopped at your house just to rest and refresh ourselves. I do not think Unc Nunkie cares very much to see the famous Crooked Magician; but for my part I am curious to look at such a great man.”

The woman seemed thoughtful.

“I remember that Unc Nunkie and my husband used to be friends, many years ago,” she said, “so perhaps they will be glad to meet again. The Magician is very busy, as I said, but if you will promise not to disturb him you may come into his workshop and watch him prepare a wonderful charm.”

“Thank you,” replied the boy, much pleased. “I would like to do that.”

She led the way to a great domed hall at the back of the house, which was the Magician’s workshop. There was a row of windows extending nearly around the sides of the circular room, which rendered the place very light, and there was a back door in addition to the one leading to the front part of the house. Before the row of windows a broad seat was built and there were some chairs and benches in the room besides. At one end stood a great fireplace, in which a blue log was blazing with a blue flame, and over the fire hung four kettles in a row, all bubbling and steaming at a great rate. The Magician was stirring all four of these kettles at the same time, two with his hands and two with his feet, to the latter, wooden ladles being strapped, for this man was so very crooked that his legs were as handy as his arms.

Unc Nunkie came forward to greet his old friend, but not being able to shake either his hands or his feet, which were all occupied in stirring, he patted the Magician’s bald head and asked: “What?”

“Ah, it’s the Silent One,” remarked Dr. Pipt, without looking up, “and he wants to know what I’m making. Well, when it is quite finished this compound will be the wonderful Powder of Life, which no one knows how to make but myself. Whenever it is sprinkled on anything, that thing will at once come to life, no matter what it is. It takes me several years to make this magic Powder, but at this moment I am pleased to say it is nearly done. You see, I am making it for my good wife Margolotte, who wants to use some of it for a purpose of her own. Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Unc Nunkie, and after I’ve finished my task I will talk to you.”

“You must know,” said Margolottte, when they were all seated together on the broad window-seat, “that my husband foolishly gave away all the Powder of Life he first made to old Mombi the Witch, who used to live in the Country of the Gillikins, to the north of here. Mombi gave to Dr. Pipt a Powder of Perpetual Youth in exchange for his Powder of Life, but she cheated him wickedly, for the Powder of Youth was no good and could work no magic at all.”

“Perhaps the Powder of Life couldn’t either,” said Ojo.

“Yes; it is perfection,” she declared. “The first lot we tested on our Glass Cat, which not only began to live but has lived ever since. She’s somewhere around the house now.”

“A Glass Cat!” exclaimed Ojo, astonished.

“Yes; she makes a very pleasant companion, but admires herself a little more than is considered modest, and she positively refuses to catch mice,” explained Margolotte. “My husband made the cat some pink brains, but they proved to be too high-bred and particular for a cat, so she thinks it is undignified in her to catch mice. Also she has a pretty blood-red heart, but it is made of stone—a ruby, I think—and so is rather hard and unfeeling. I think the next Glass Cat the Magician makes will have neither brains nor heart, for then it will not object to catching mice and may prove of some use to us.”

“What did old Mombi the Witch do with the Powder of Life your husband gave her?” asked the boy.

“She brought Jack Pumpkinhead to life, for one thing,” was the reply. “I suppose you’ve heard of Jack Pumpkinhead. He is now living near the Emerald City and is a great favorite with the Princess Ozma, who rules all the Land of Oz.”

“No; I’ve never heard of him,” remarked Ojo. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Land of Oz. You see, I’ve lived all my life with Unc Nunkie, the Silent One, and there was no one to tell me anything.”

“That is one reason you are Ojo the Unlucky,” said the woman, in a sympathetic tone. “The more one knows, the luckier he is, for knowledge is the greatest gift in life.”

“But tell me, please, what you intend to do with this new lot of the Powder of Life, which Dr. Pipt is making. He said his wife wanted it for some especial purpose.”

“So I do,” she answered. “I want it to bring my Patchwork Girl to life.”

“Oh! A Patchwork Girl? What is that?” Ojo asked, for this seemed even more strange and unusual than a Glass Cat.

“I think I must show you my Patchwork Girl,” said Margolotte, laughing at the boy’s astonishment, “for she is rather difficult to explain. But first I will tell you that for many years I have longed for a servant to help me with the housework and to cook the meals and wash the dishes. No servant will come here because the place is so lonely and out-of-the-way, so my clever husband, the Crooked Magician, proposed that I make a girl out of some sort of material and he would make her live by sprinkling over her the Powder of Life. This seemed an excellent suggestion and at once Dr. Pipt set to work to make a new batch of his magic powder. He has been at it a long, long while, and so I have had plenty of time to make the girl. Yet that task was not so easy as you may suppose. At first I couldn’t think what to make her of, but finally in searching through a chest I came across an old patchwork quilt, which my grandmother once made when she was young.”

“What is a patchwork quilt?” asked Ojo.

“A bedquilt made of patches of different kinds and colors of cloth, all neatly sewed together. The patches are of all shapes and sizes, so a patchwork quilt is a very pretty and