Read Ebook: The Gnome King of Oz by Thompson Ruth Plumly Neill John R John Rea Illustrator Baum L Frank Lyman Frank Other

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Ebook has 829 lines and 42299 words, and 17 pages

The Spool of Succession had slid off the path with them and was now rolling gaily through the gates of the city. Holding fast to one another, and scarcely daring to breathe, the fat little ministers of Patch went tiptoeing after the golden spool.

The Emerald City, which Scrapper and Piecer were now entering, is the capital of Oz and lies in the exact center of that merry and magical Kingdom. Oz, as many of you know, is a funny and fascinating fairyland, oblong in shape and surrounded, for protection, by a deadly desert of sand. There are four large countries in Oz; the yellow Winkie Land of the East, the purple Gillikin country of the North, the blue Munchkin country of the West and the red lands of the Quadlings in the South. Each of these four countries is divided into many smaller countries of which Patch is the seven hundred and fifth, but all are subject to one ruler and governed by laws laid down by the Queen of the realm.

The rulers of Oz always lived in the capital, not only because it is so central and convenient, but because it is the most beautiful and enchanting city in the whole fairy world. Its cottages and castle fairly twinkle with emeralds and these precious stones, studding the walls and even the marble walks, give the air a soft glow and shimmer, making gardens greener, fountains more sparkling and everything more glittering and gay.

Ozma, a little girl fairy, is the present ruler of Oz and the wisest and gentlest sovereign the fairy country has ever known. With her in the Emerald City live fifty seven thousand, three hundred and eighteen gay Ozites and nearly a hundred celebrities, for Ozma has invited to her court the most interesting characters from her four fairy kingdoms.

The Scarecrow, a lively fellow stuffed with straw, is perhaps the most famous. He has a palace of his own, but is a frequent visitor at the capital. Then there is the Tin Woodman, who rules over the Winkies and is a splendidly polished gentleman of tin, and Sir Hokus of Pokes, a knight seven centuries old, Jack Pumpkinhead, a singular person carved from wood with a large pumpkin for a head, Tik Tok, a machine man who winds up like a clock and does everything but live, the famous Wizard of Oz and so many more that twenty histories have already been written about their queer doings.

On this late afternoon, as the two bewildered Quilties trod timidly down the streets of the capital, Ozma was busily conferring with Princess Dorothy about curtains. Dorothy is a little Kansas girl, who was blown to Oz in a cyclone and later was made a Princess and invited to live in the palace. She is Ozma's favorite adviser and not only helps her rule over the turbulent tribes of Oz, but is consulted about everything, even such small matters as new ribbons for the palace pets or, as now, about castle curtains. Choosing curtains is fun and there were so many colors and fabrics, it took the two girls quite a long time to decide. They had about settled on green taffeta, edged with gold fringe, when a terrified cry came echoing in from the garden.

"What was that?" cried Dorothy, and dropping a roll of taffeta, she rushed to the window. Ozma followed quickly and, in some alarm, the two stared down over the flowered slopes and green terraces. But not a soul was in sight and after waiting for another scream, they concluded that the first was the shout of some mischievous boy and gaily returned to their curtains. Had they looked five minutes sooner, they would have been surprised indeed. Five minutes before Scrapper and Piecer, toiling breathlessly after the Spool of Succession, had run straight into the palace garden. Darting here and there, it had led them to a secluded grape arbor. On a green bench under the arbor sat a most amazing young lady, and as the two Quilties stared at her in perfect astonishment and admiration the golden spool stopped at her feet.

It was the Patchwork Girl, one of the very jolliest of Ozma's subjects. She had been made originally by a wizard's wife out of an old crazy quilt and neatly stuffed with cotton. Her eyes were silver suspender buttons, her tongue a piece of red velvet and her hair a bunch of yarn that refused to stay down. Margolotte, the wizard's wife, had intended Scraps for a servant, but when the wizard mixed up her brains a double portion of fun and cleverness had got in by mistake. When he brought her to life, Scraps refused to work and ran off to the Emerald City where she has lived ever since, making life lively for everyone and having more fun herself than a cageful of monkeys. Being constructed from a crazy quilt makes her exceedingly reckless and gay and as more than half her conversation is in verse, Scraps is a most amusing and delightful companion. To the weary and already homesick Quilties she seemed a vision of perfect loveliness.

"Superb!" gloated Piecer, throwing both arms round Scrapper's neck in his excitement.

"A beauty!" exulted Scrapper, returning Piecer's embrace with interest. Indeed, so delighted were they at the appearance of their future sovereign that they began to dance up and down and fairly hug one another for joy. A sharp exclamation from the Patchwork Girl made them stop.

"Ragmen apply at the rear!" cried Scraps, pointing imperiously toward the back of the castle.

"Ragmen!" The Quilties exchanged indignant glances. The spool had led them such a chase that their clothes were torn and dusty and the bag over Piecer's shoulder added a convincing touch to the picture. No wonder Scraps thought them ragmen. Piecer was about to explain, but Scrapper, afraid that this bewitching damsel might escape them, rushed forward impetuously and seized her hand.

"Scat!" screamed the Patchwork Girl, snatching it angrily away. "What do you take me for?"

"Because we have to," confided the Chief Scrapper mysteriously. "We take you for what you are, a Queen. Three cheers for the Queen of the Quilties!" wheezed Scrapper, signaling slyly to Piecer. And while the Patchwork Girl fell back, stiff with astonishment, Piecer clapped the bag over her head. Then together the two little Quilties shook her down into the bottom and pulled the string tight. It was the frightened scream of Scraps, as she disappeared into the rag bag that Dorothy and Ozma had heard, but by the time they reached the window, she was out of the garden. Thrusting a sharp stick through the neck of the sack, the Ministers of Patch hoisted it to their shoulders and, with the bag itself swinging violently between them, started on a run for the gates. They would never have succeeded in kidnapping Scraps nor escaping unobserved had it not been for the foot-path. After a short nap it had grown curious about the two strangers it had brought to the city and pattering into the royal garden began to search for them. Usually the Wizard of Oz kept this mischievous piece of property tied up when not in use, but to-day he had forgotten to do so and, enjoying its holiday, the little foot-path was running perfectly wild. Coming upon Piecer and Scrapper as they dashed headlong over flower beds and borders, it scooped them neatly up and by a short, little known route carried them straight out of the Emerald City.

For a time the Quilties were too shocked to realize what had happened. Then Scrapper, shaken out of his stupor by a terrible jolt as the foot-path jumped over a boulder, gasped weakly. "Why, it's the same flying path that brought us to the capital!"

"Yes, but where is it flying now?" wailed Piecer, tightening his hold upon the rag bag. Inside Scraps was thrashing around in a frantic effort to escape, her screams and threats somewhat muffled by the collection of pieces already in the bag. "Can't we steer it?" panted the Prime Piecer wildly, "or stop it or something?" Scrapper shook his head violently, then catching sight of a green card tacked on the rustic railing fairly pounced upon it.

"Write directions here," advised the card. There was a pencil attached to the railing by a long cord, so Scrapper seized the pencil and wrote hastily, "Take us to the Kingdom of Patch."

"What have you bagged? Who is our ruler? Show us the Imperial Potentate," they cried, clattering their shears and shaking their sewing boxes. Seeing that nothing would satisfy them but an immediate sight of the Queen, Scrapper scrambled wearily to his feet and began fumbling with the strings of the bag.

"Will your Imperial Highness deign to step out?" suggested Scrapper, sticking his head cautiously into the bag.

"Out!" shrilled Scraps, and bouncing up like a Jill in the box, gave Scrapper a resounding smack on the ear.

"You villain ragman Take me back How dare you hurl Me in a sack?"

she cried furiously and, whirling upon Piecer, boxed his ears as soundly as she had boxed Scrapper's. At this the delight of the Quilties knew no bounds. They began to cheer and stamp with approval.

"What a fine temper! What a marvelous beauty! She's the Queen for us." And raising their shears they shouted altogether, "Hurrah for the Queen of the Quilties!"

"Try to act like a Queen, can't you?" puffed Scrapper, seizing the agitated Patchwork Girl by the arm.

"What do you mean? Am I a Queen?" she demanded, rolling her suspender button eyes from side to side. The Prime Ministers of Patch nodded and, as they did, two Quilties, with a huge patchwork arm chair on wheels, pushed their way through the crowd.

"Quick, now, your name," begged Piecer. When Scraps, in an excited whisper, imparted the information, he cried in a loud voice: "Hats off to Her Patchesty! Three cheers for Queen Scraps of Patch!"

The cheers were given with a will and, as Piecer grandly handed the Patchwork Girl into the royal rolling chair, the excited Quilties fairly pelted her with patches, tomato pin-cushions and hard spools of cotton. Luckily Scraps is a stuffed person, with no feeling at all, otherwise she might have been hurt by these flying missiles. As it was, she sat back grandly, bowing now to the left, now to the right and feeling more important than she had ever felt in her whole cotton career. When they reached the patched palace, two Quilty boys were waiting on the steps, one with the coronet and the other with the crown jewels and, amid the further cheers of the populace, Scraps was crowned Queen of the Kingdom and led triumphantly into her castle. The crown was a round sewing basket, the crown jewels a string of old spools, but scarcely noticing the odd character of her royal regalia, Scraps strutted proudly up and down the shabby hall of the palace, rehearsing grand speeches and queenly gestures. As for Scrapper and Piecer--too weary to bother about supper or bed--they immediately locked all the windows and doors and fell into a heavy slumber on a hall bench.

Hungry from their long fast, for they had eaten nothing the day before, and wearied by their long quest, the two Quilty statesmen arose early next morning. "High time to instruct her Highness in the duties of her office," yawned Scrapper, ruffling up his hair.

"I hope she has breakfast ready," muttered Piecer, groaning a little as he straightened his knees and stretched out his arms. "And I hope this Queen lasts a long time, Scrapper, for another day like yesterday would be the end of me. Come on, let's see what she's doing."

Not requiring any sleep, Scraps had spent the first half of the night wondering how she had come to be Queen. Then, giving it up, she spent the other half dancing and singing and composing long speeches to deliver to her subjects. As Piecer and Scrapper stepped into the main hall of the palace, she was arranging her yarn hair before a long mirror. Catching sight of them in the glass, she spun gaily round and clapping her crown on sideways cried haughtily:

"Vassals, fetch my rolling chair Your Queen desires to take the air!"

"Stuff and Nonsense!" sputtered Scrapper, amazed at the Patchwork Girl's audacious verse. "Don't you know the coronation is over and it's time to get to work?"

"Work?" shrilled Scraps, catching hold of a patched portiere to steady herself. "Queens are not supposed to work. Where are the servants?"

"There are no servants," answered Scrapper calmly. "The Queen does all the work here. Just read off the list of her Majesty's duties, Piecer, old fellow."

Putting on his specs, Piecer drew a long sheet of paper from his patched pocket and began: "The Queen of Patch, on arising, shall prepare the breakfast of her two chief advisers ," explained Piecer, looking severely at the Patchwork Girl over his spectacles. "She shall make the beds," he continued complacently, his voice growing higher with each item, "sweep the floors, dust the furniture, scrub the steps, wash the windows, sort the patches, count the cotton spools, separate the old clothes for mending, feed the Scissor Bird, help pick tomato pin-cushions, scold the Patch-workers--and--"

"Stop!" commanded Scraps, flinging up her arm imperiously.

"But I'm not nearly finished," objected Piecer, rattling the paper impatiently.

"Well, I am!" The Patchwork Girl's suspender buttons glittered angrily behind the steel spectacles. "Get some one else to be your sovereign," she cried. "You don't want a Queen, you want a cook, a housekeeper and a Grandma!" Snatching the work basket from her head, she dashed it to the floor and jumping on it with both feet shouted defiantly:

"Eeejee, weejee, squeejee, squb! I will not sweep, I will not scrub! I will not scrub! I will not dust! So let those dust and scrub who must!"

"Better save your strength for your work," advised Piecer, stepping back a few paces. "You're Chief Scrapper," he whispered hurriedly to his companion. "You settle her while I fetch the Scissor Bird."

As the door slammed upon Piecer, the Chief Scrapper faced the Patchwork Girl. "Go on, get as mad as you please," he urged cheerfully. "The madder you are the better we like you. The crosser you grow the better queen you'll make for Patch, our Queens must be good scolders," he chuckled, rubbing his hands gleefully together.

"I'm not your queen," screamed Scraps, stamping one foot and then the other. "Take me back to the Emerald City, you miserable ragamuffin. I am a free subject of Ozma of Oz."

"Oh, no! You're Queen of Patch, now," corrected Scrapper, picking up the waste basket and jamming it down upon her cotton forehead. "You were chosen by the royal Spool of Succession to be our ruler!"

While Scraps listened in amazement, he explained how the former queen had gone to pieces and how the golden spool had led them to the Emerald City.

"And you think, just because your silly spool tagged me, that I'm going to stay and do all your work?" exclaimed Scraps, snapping her cotton fingers under Scrapper's nose. "Kazupp-kazick, you make me sick!" Rushing to the door, she jerked it open, bumped against Piecer, on his way in, and sat down with a thud.

"What a pretty creature," chirped the Scissor Bird, who had flown over Piecer's head. "Is this the new Queen?"

Scrapper nodded.

"She knows almost as many cross words as the last one," he chuckled admiringly. "But she refuses to work."

"Oh, I think she'll work now," smiled Piecer. With a significant wink at his companion, he thrust a broom into Scraps' hands and, turning to the Scissor Bird, said quietly: "If her Majesty refuses to clean the castle, just cut off her head!"

"Nothing would give me more pleasure," chortled the bird, and snapping his scissor bill hungrily, he swooped down upon Scraps and snipped an inch off her yarn hair.

"Help!" screamed the Patchwork Girl. "Help! Help!" But there was no one to help her and, as the Scissor Bird took another snip at her yarn, she seized the broom and fell to sweeping for dear life.

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