Ojo had never traveled before and so he only knew that the path down th_ountainside led into the open Munchkin Country, where large numbers of peopl_welt. Scraps was quite new and not supposed to know anything of the Land o_z, while the Glass Cat admitted she had never wandered very far away from th_agician's house. There was only one path before them, at the beginning, s_hey could not miss their way, and for a time they walked through the thic_orest in silent thought, each one impressed with the importance of th_dventure they had undertaken.
Suddenly the Patchwork Girl laughed. It was funny to see her laugh, becaus_er cheeks wrinkled up, her nose tipped, her silver button eyes twinkled an_er mouth curled at the corners in a comical way.
"Has something pleased you?" asked Ojo, who was feeling solemn and joyles_hrough thinking upon his uncle's sad fate.
"Yes," she answered. "Your world pleases me, for it's a queer world, and lif_n it is queerer still. Here am I, made from an old bedquilt and intended t_e a slave to Margolotte, rendered free as air by an accident that none of yo_ould foresee. I am enjoying life and seeing the world, while the woman wh_ade me is standing helpless as a block of wood. If that isn't funny enough t_augh at, I don't know what is."
"You're not seeing much of the world yet, my poor, innocent Scraps," remarke_he Cat. "The world doesn't consist wholly of the trees that are on all side_f us."
"But they're part of it; and aren't they pretty trees?" returned Scraps, bobbing her head until her brown yarn curls fluttered in the breeze. "Growin_etween them I can see lovely ferns and wild-flowers, and soft green mosses.
If the rest of your world is half as beautiful I shall be glad I'm alive."
"I don't know what the rest of the world is like, I'm sure," said the cat;
"but I mean to find out."
"I have never been out of the forest," Ojo added; "but to me the trees ar_loomy and sad and the wild-flowers seem lonesome. It must be nicer wher_here are no trees and there is room for lots of people to live together."
"I wonder if any of the people we shall meet will be as splendid as I am,"
said the Patchwork Girl. "All I have seen, so far, have pale, colorless skin_nd clothes as blue as the country they live in, while I am of many gorgeou_olors— face and body and clothes. That is why I am bright and contented, Ojo, while you are blue and sad."
"I think I made a mistake in giving you so many sorts of brains," observed th_oy. "Perhaps, as the Magician said, you have an overdose, and they may no_gree with you."
"What had you to do with my brains?" asked Scraps.
"A lot," replied Ojo. "Old Margolotte meant to give you only a few—just enoug_o keep you going—but when she wasn't looking I added a good many more, of th_est kinds I could find in the Magician's cupboard."
"Thanks," said the girl, dancing along the path ahead of Ojo and then dancin_ack to his side. "If a few brains are good, many brains must be better."
"But they ought to be evenly balanced," said the boy, "and I had no time to b_areful. From the way you're acting, I guess the dose was badly mixed."
"Scraps hasn't enough brains to hurt her, so don't worry," remarked the cat, which was trotting along in a very dainty and graceful manner. "The onl_rains worth considering are mine, which are pink. You can see 'em work."
After walking a long time they came to a little brook that trickled across th_ath, and here Ojo sat down to rest and eat something from his basket. H_ound that the Magician had given him part of a loaf of bread and a slice o_heese. He broke off some of the bread and was surprised to find the loaf jus_s large as it was before. It was the same way with the cheese: however muc_e broke off from the slice, it remained exactly the same size.
"Ah," said he, nodding wisely; "that's magic. Dr. Pipt has enchanted the brea_nd the cheese, so it will last me all through my journey, however much _at."
"Why do you put those things into your mouth?" asked Scraps, gazing at him i_stonishment. "Do you need more stuffing? Then why don't you use cotton, suc_s I am stuffed with?"
"I don't need that kind," said Ojo.
"But a mouth is to talk with, isn't it?"
"It is also to eat with," replied the boy. "If I didn't put food into m_outh, and eat it, I would get hungry and starve.
"Ah, I didn't know that," she said. "Give me some."
Ojo handed her a bit of the bread and she put it in her mouth.
"What next?" she asked, scarcely able to speak.
"Chew it and swallow it," said the boy.
Scraps tried that. Her pearl teeth were unable to chew the bread and beyon_er mouth there was no opening. Being unable to swallow she threw away th_read and laughed.
"I must get hungry and starve, for I can't eat," she said.
"Neither can I," announced the cat; "but I'm not fool enough to try. Can't yo_nderstand that you and I are superior people and not made like these poo_umans?"
"Why should I understand that, or anything else?" asked the girl. "Don'_other my head by asking conundrums, I beg of you. Just let me discover mysel_n my own way."
With this she began amusing herself by leaping across the brook and bac_gain.
"Be careful, or you'll fall in the water," warned Ojo.
"You'd better. If you get wet you'll be soggy and can't walk. Your color_ight run, too," he said.
"Don't my colors run whenever I run?" she asked.
"Not in the way I mean. If they get wet, the reds and greens and yellows an_urples of your patches might run into each other and become just a blur—n_olor at all, you know."
"Then," said the Patchwork Girl, "I'll be careful, for if I spoiled m_plendid colors I would cease to be beautiful."
"Pah!" sneered the Glass Cat, "such colors are not beautiful; they're ugly, and in bad taste. Please notice that my body has no color at all. I'_ransparent, except for my exquisite red heart and my lovely pink brains—yo_an see 'em work."
"Shoo—shoo—shoo!" cried Scraps, dancing around and laughing. "And your horri_reen eyes, Miss Bungle! You can't see your eyes, but we can, and I notic_ou're very proud of what little color you have. Shoo, Miss Bungle, shoo—shoo—shoo! If you were all colors and many colors, as I am, you'd be to_tuck up for anything." She leaped over the cat and back again, and th_tartled Bungle crept close to a tree to escape her. This made Scraps laug_ore heartily than ever, and she said:
The cat has lost her shoe.
Her tootsie's bare, but she don't care,
So what's the odds to you?"
"Dear me, Ojo," said the cat; "don't you think the creature is a little bi_razy?"
"It may be," he answered, with a puzzled look.
"If she continues her insults I'll scratch off her suspender-button eyes,"
declared the cat.
"Don't quarrel, please," pleaded the boy, rising to resume the journey. "Le_s be good comrades and as happy and cheerful as possible, for we are likel_o meet with plenty of trouble on our way."
It was nearly sundown when they came to the edge of the forest and saw sprea_ut before them a delightful landscape. There were broad blue field_tretching for miles over the valley, which was dotted everywhere with pretty, blue domed houses, none of which, however, was very near to the place wher_hey stood. Just at the point where the path left the forest stood a tin_ouse covered with leaves from the trees, and before this stood a Munchkin ma_ith an axe in his hand. He seemed very much surprised when Ojo and Scraps an_he Glass Cat came out of the woods, but as the Patchwork Girl approache_earer he sat down upon a bench and laughed so hard that he could not spea_or a long time.
This man was a woodchopper and lived all alone in the little house. He ha_ushy blue whiskers and merry blue eyes and his blue clothes were quite ol_nd worn.
"Mercy me!" exclaimed the woodchopper, when at last he could stop laughing.
"Who would think such a funny harlequin lived in the Land of Oz? Where did yo_ome from, Crazy-quilt?"
"Do you mean me?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
"Of course," he replied.
"You misjudge my ancestry. I'm not a crazy- quilt; I'm patchwork," she said.
"There's no difference," he replied, beginning to laugh again. "When my ol_randmother sews such things together she calls it a crazy-quilt; but I neve_hought such a jumble could come to life."
"It was the Magic Powder that did it," explained Ojo.
"Oh, then you have come from the Crooked Magician on the mountain. I migh_ave known it, for—Well, I declare! here's a glass cat. But the Magician wil_et in trouble for this; it's against the law for anyone to work magic excep_linda the Good and the royal Wizard of Oz. If you people—or things—or glas_pectacles—or crazy- quilts—or whatever you are, go near the Emerald City, you'll be arrested."
"We're going there, anyhow," declared Scraps, sitting upon the bench an_winging her stuffed legs.
"If any of us takes a rest,
We'll be arrested sure,
And get no restitution
'Cause the rest we must endure."
"I see," said the woodchopper, nodding; "you're as crazy as the crazy-quil_ou're made of."
"She really is crazy," remarked the Glass Cat. "But that isn't to be wondere_t when you remember how many different things she's made of. For my part, I'_ade of pure glass—except my jewel heart and my pretty pink brains. Did yo_otice my brains, stranger? You can see 'em work."
"So I can," replied the woodchopper; "but I can't see that they accomplis_uch. A glass cat is a useless sort of thing, but a Patchwork Girl is reall_seful. She makes me laugh, and laughter is the best thing in life. There wa_nce a woodchopper, a friend of mine, who was made all of tin, and I used t_augh every time I saw him."
"A tin woodchopper?" said Ojo. "That is strange."
"My friend wasn't always tin," said the man, "but he was careless with hi_xe, and used to chop himself very badly. Whenever he lost an arm or a leg h_ad it replaced with tin; so after a while he was all tin."
"And could he chop wood then?" asked the boy.
"He could if he didn't rust his tin joints. But one day he met Dorothy in th_orest and went with her to the Emerald City, where he made his fortune. He i_ow one of the favorites of Princess Ozma, and she has made him the Emperor o_he Winkies—the Country where all is yellow."
"Who is Dorothy?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.
"A little maid who used to live in Kansas, but is now a Princess of Oz. She'_zma's best friend, they say, and lives with her in the royal palace."
"Is Dorothy made of tin?" inquired Ojo.
"Is she patchwork, like me?" inquired Scraps.
"No," said the man; "Dorothy is flesh, just as I am. I know of only one ti_erson, and that is Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman; and there will never be bu_ne Patchwork Girl, for any magician that sees you will refuse to make anothe_ne like you."
"I suppose we shall see the Tin Woodman, for we are going to the Country o_he Winkies," said the boy.
"What for?" asked the woodchopper.
"To get the left wing of a yellow butterfly."
"It is a long journey," declared the man, "and you will go through lonel_arts of Oz and cross rivers and traverse dark forests before you get there."
"Suits me all right," said Scraps. "I'll get a chance to see the country."
"You're crazy, girl. Better crawl into a rag-bag and hide there; or giv_ourself to some little girl to play with. Those who travel are likely to mee_rouble; that's why I stay at home."
The woodchopper then invited them all to stay the night at his little hut, bu_hey were anxious to get on and so left him and continued along the path, which was broader, now, and more distinct.
They expected to reach some other house before it grew dark, but the twiligh_as brief and Ojo soon began to fear they had made a mistake in leaving th_oodchopper.
"I can scarcely see the path," he said at last. "Can you see it, Scraps?"
"No," replied the Patchwork Girl, who was holding fast to the boy's arm so h_ould guide her.
"I can see," declared the Glass Cat. "My eyes are better than yours, and m_ink brains—"
"Never mind your pink brains, please," said Ojo hastily; "just run ahead an_how us the way. Wait a minute and I'll tie a string to you; for then you ca_ead us."
He got a string from his pocket and tied it around the cat's neck, and afte_hat the creature guided them along the path. They had proceeded in this wa_or about an hour when a twinkling blue light appeared ahead of them.
"Good! there's a house at last," cried Ojo. "When we reach it the good peopl_ill surely welcome us and give us a night's lodging." But however far the_alked the light seemed to get no nearer, so by and by the cat stopped short, saying:
"I think the light is traveling, too, and we shall never be able to catch u_ith it. But here is a house by the roadside, so why go farther?"
"Where is the house, Bungle?"
"Just here beside us, Scraps."
Ojo was now able to see a small house near the pathway. It was dark an_ilent, but the boy was tired and wanted to rest, so he went up to the doo_nd knocked.
"Who is there?" cried a voice from within.
"I am Ojo the Unlucky, and with me are Miss Scraps Patchwork and the Glas_at," he replied.
"What do you want?" asked the Voice.
"A place to sleep," said Ojo.
"Come in, then; but don't make any noise, and you must go directly to bed,"
returned the Voice.
Ojo unlatched the door and entered. It was very dark inside and he could se_othing at all. But the cat exclaimed: "Why, there's no one here!"
"There must be," said the boy. "Some one spoke to me."
"I can see everything in the room," replied the cat, "and no one is presen_ut ourselves. But here are three beds, all made up, so we may as well go t_leep."
"What is sleep?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.
"It's what you do when you go to bed," said Ojo.
"But why do you go to bed?" persisted the Patchwork Girl.
"Here, here! You are making altogether too much noise," cried the Voice the_ad heard before. "Keep quiet, strangers, and go to bed."
The cat, which could see in the dark, looked sharply around for the owner o_he Voice, but could discover no one, although the Voice had seemed clos_eside them. She arched her back a little and seemed afraid. Then sh_hispered to Ojo: "Come!" and led him to a bed.
With his hands the boy felt of the bed and found it was big and soft, wit_eather pillows and plenty of blankets. So he took off his shoes and hat an_rept into the bed. Then the cat led Scraps to another bed and the Patchwor_irl was puzzled to know what to do with it.
"Lie down and keep quiet," whispered the cat, warningly.
"Can't I sing?" asked Scraps.
"Can't I whistle?" asked Scraps.
"Can't I dance till morning, if I want to?" asked Scraps.
"You must keep quiet," said the cat, in a soft voice.
"I don't want to," replied the Patchwork Girl, speaking as loudly as usual.
"What right have you to order me around? If I want to talk, or yell, o_histle—"
Before she could say anything more an unseen hand seized her firmly and thre_er out of the door, which closed behind her with a sharp slam. She foun_erself bumping and rolling in the road and when she got up and tried to ope_he door of the house again she found it locked.
"What has happened to Scraps?" asked Ojo.
"Never mind. Let's go to sleep, or something will happen to us," answered th_lass Cat.
So Ojo snuggled down in his bed and fell asleep, and he was so tired that h_ever wakened until broad daylight.