THE GIANT HORSE OF OZ

By RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON

Founded on and continuing the Famous Oz Stories
By
L. FRANK BAUM
"Royal Historian of Oz"

Illustrated by
JOHN R. NEILL

The Reilly & Lee Co.
Chicago, New York

Made in U. S. A.

Copyright, 1928
By
The Reilly & Lee Co.

All Rights Reserved

The Giant Horse of Oz

Hello Girls and Boys, Hello!

Wherever you are, Hello!

Wherever you are and whoever you be

Here's the best of wishes from Oz and me!

Your letters have been so gay,

And so many have come this year,

Placed end to end they would reach

From the Emerald City to here!

And when you have read this book,

I know you will write again,

For I'd like to hear what you think

Of the Medicine Man and Ben.

And this latest happening in Oz.

High doings! High times, sky high!

Imagine a ride on a real HIGH HORSE!

Ever hear of one? (Neither did I!)

But the Prince of the Ozure Isles

And Trot galloped off on one,

And his legs stretched up and his legs stretched down

And how that High Horse could run!

But so you can read it yourself,

I'd better stop now, and here.

Best luck to you all! Best love! and

I'll write a new book next year!

RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON.

110 Schoolhouse Lane, Ardmore, Pennsylvania

List of Chapters

CHAPTER 1

The King of the Ozure Isles

Far to the North, walled in on all sides by the craggy slopes of the Munchkin Mountains, lies the great Lost Lake of Orizon. And glittering on its blue bosom, like a large and lovely necklace, rest the Ozure Isles of Oz. Now Oz itself, this mysterious land about which we read and hear so often, is a large oblong Kingdom divided into four smaller Kingdoms with the Emerald City in the exact center. Here dwells Ozma, the present ruler, a little fairy of great gentleness and power. While all the Kingdoms in Oz are subject to Ozma, each has its own special sovereign.

For instance, the Northern Country of the Gillikens is governed by the Good Witch Tattypoo; The Red Land of the Quadlings, by Glinda the Good Sorceress of the South; the Western and Yellow Empire of the Winkies is under the kindly control of Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman of Oz; the blue Munchkin Country is governed by a King of whom nothing much has been heard for many a long year. But be that as it may, it is in the Munchkin Country that the great Lost Lake of Orizon lies.

The waters of Orizon are deep, salt and dashing, so that it is more like an inland sea than a lake. On ancient Oz maps Orizon is marked by a large blue circle, but so steep and impenetrable are the paths over the mountains, so beset with dangerous beasts and yawning chasms, few travelers have glimpsed its sparkling waters, or the islands rising so dazzlingly from its center. On Oz maps to-day, Orizon is not shown at all, and the Lost Lake and its jeweled islands have long since been forgotten by the merry inhabitants of Ozma's Kingdom.

Except for the blue gulls that circle endlessly over the Sapphire City of Cheeriobed, no one thinks of, or visits the Ozure Isles, at all. Yet in the whole curious Land of Oz is no Kingdom more interesting or delightful. There are five of the Ozure Isles, each small and sparkling with flashing cliffs of iridescent gems and shores honeycombed with caves and jeweled grottoes. Instead of pebbles, the beaches are strewn with precious stones, opals, rubies and amethyst, turquoise and pearls, but more numerous than any other of the precious stones are the glittering sapphires that color the whole island realm with their dazzling blue light, and from which Cheeriobed, the King, has fashioned his capital City.

The Ozurians number one thousand and seven and are a tall fair haired race of Munchkins. In olden days they were the happiest, most care-free people in Oz, but that was before Mombi, the wicked witch of the North, stole the young Queen and sent the monster Quiberon to guard the waters of Orizon. Since then, the good King and his subjects have been virtual prisoners on the islands. The great flock of sea horses on which they were wont to ride to the mainland have been destroyed by this pitiless monster and only when Quiberon is sleeping dare the inhabitants venture down to the shore. You see in aquariums, the sea horses that abound in our own tropical waters. Well, the sea horses of Orizon were like that, only as large as Arabian steeds, with flashing manes, great winged fins and powerful shining tails. To ride upon their backs must have been more pleasurable than anything I can imagine and their loss was one of the greatest griefs this island monarch had suffered. One would wonder that so unfortunate a King could endure life at all.

But Cheeriobed was so kind and gay and so naturally merry that even in the face of all his misfortunes he was calm and uncomplaining and often had whole days at a time when he forgot to be unhappy. Upon his shimmering islands grew everything necessary for comfort and ease and his subjects were light hearted and industrious and always obedient to his desires. Then, to see the sun flashing on the jeweled rocks and sparkling shores of the Ozure Isles by day and the moon silvering the spires of the Sapphire City by night would lift the heaviest heart. To further lighten the sorrows of this good King, there was Philador, his son. Nowhere in the four Kingdoms of Oz lived a gayer, handsomer and more companionable little fellow. Then too, Cheeriobed was fortunate enough to have at his castle a juggler who could balance ten chairs and some more things upon his chin, a minstrel who knew a thousand songs, and a carpet that could beat itself. So on the rare occasions when Quiberon lay dozing, life was gay and happy in the blue castle.

On one such calm and sunny morning, Cheeriobed, his throne drawn close to the great windows, was gazing dreamily off toward the Munchkin Mountains. He was thinking of the old happy days and only half listening to the strumming of Umtillio, the minstrel. At his side, Toddledy, faithful scribe and Prime Moneyster was balancing the castle accounts, while Palumbo, the court juggler, balanced seven books, three ink wells and a gold chair on the tip of his nose.

"Has your Highness ever considered," panted Palumbo, speaking with difficulty because of the books and ink bottles—"Has your Highness ever considered how the noses and chins in this Kingdom have been neglected? With a little training, I could teach the Islanders to carry their entire possessions in this careless and interesting fashion. Take your own nose for instance—" The King passed his hand uneasily over his nose and Toddledy looking up from his accounts began to mutter crossly under his breath. "Take your own nose," continued Palumbo persuasively, "with a little practice you could balance the fire tongs, the screen and the sapphire clock itself upon the tip. We'll begin with a few simple exercises."

Paying no attention to Toddledy, the Court Juggler set down the books and ink bottles and lifted the huge clock from the mantel. "Now then," he puffed earnestly, "if your Highness will kneel and turn the head to the left." Cheeriobed with a resigned wink at his Prime Moneyster had just got down upon his knees, when a shuddering explosion shook the castle. The jeweled chandeliers rattled like castanets, ornaments left their accustomed places and flew through the air, chairs slid into corners, and the carpet that could shake itself, shook off three tables and a chair and rolling up so rapidly it caught Umtillio unawares, reared stiffly on end and stood in a corner. Cheeriobed had fallen heavily to the floor and small wonder. At the first tremor Palumbo had dropped the sapphire clock upon his head and taken to his heels.

"Quiberon!" quavered Toddledy, rushing over to the window and drawing aside the blue curtains, "Great Totomos—what does he want now?"

As if to answer the old Prime Moneyster the castle rocked more violently than ever. The waters of Orizon below began to toss and bubble, and presently from their churning depths rose the frightful head of Mombi's monster. No sea serpent was ever uglier than Quiberon, fire shot from his eye and smoke from his nostrils. He had the head scales and talons of a dragon and the long hideous body of a giant fear-fish. As Toddledy clutched at the curtains to keep from falling, Quiberon sent a great cloud of smoke upward. It twisted, curled and spiraled, forming itself finally into a long black sentence, the words hanging like a dark threat in the clear morning air.

"Send a mortal maiden to wait upon me or in three days I will destroy you utterly!" As Toddledy with smarting eyes read this monstrous message, Quiberon showed all of his red tusks and dove beneath the waves. At the same instant Akbad the Soothsayer came tearing into the throne room.

"Dunce!" shrieked Akbad, shaking his long finger under Toddledy's nose, "why do you stand there idle when the whole Kingdom is in danger? The King is in danger, the Prince is in danger, I, Akbad the Soothsayer, am in danger of being destroyed utterly. Utterly! Utterly! Utterly!"

Racing around in a frenzied circle, Akbad began to tear out handfuls of his hair and cast it upon the floor. His loud outcries aroused the unconscious monarch. Rubbing the lump that the sapphire clock had raised upon his forehead, Cheeriobed rose and unsteadily made his way to the window. The black sentence was growing fainter but was still legible. After reading it twice, the unhappy monarch groaned heavily and dropped his head upon the sapphire sill. "Where are we to find a mortal maiden and even if we do find one, who would condemn her to such a fate?" mourned the King.

"Here comes Jewlia," panted Toddledy, ducking his head as a small Ozurian came sailing through the window. Each of the Ozure Islanders took turns serving Quiberon and the last to take charge of his cavern was Jewlia, the Court Jeweler's daughter. Not caring for land food Quiberon had never molested the keepers of his cavern. So far, he had satisfied himself with devouring the sea horses, preventing any of the Ozure Islanders from leaving the Islands and shaking them up whenever he wished to amuse himself. His treatment of Jewlia was therefore all the more alarming. While the King continued to groan and Akbad to tear out his hair, Toddledy hurried anxiously over to the little maiden.

"My child!" stuttered Toddledy touching her gently on the arm—"What has happened, are you hurt?"

"I was only telling him stories," wailed Jewlia, wiping her eyes on her blue silk apron.

"A pernicious and wicked habit," fumed Akbad, shaking his finger at the trembling little girl. "What kind of stories, may I ask?"

"Stories about Ozma of Oz and the three little mortal maids who have come to live in the Emerald City," sobbed Jewlia. "I found them in an old history book in my father's shop, and when I finished the last story—" Jewlia paused to wipe her eyes—"Quiberon rushed out of the cave, and when he came back, seized me in his talons and hurled me through this window." Burying her head in her hands Jewlia began to weep afresh.

"There, there," begged Cheeriobed, patting her kindly on the shoulder. "Don't cry, my dear."

"Let her cry!" roared Akbad, stamping furiously up and down. "The mischievous wench, with her tales of mortal maidens, has ruined us all. Nothing can save us now." As if to emphasize his gloomy prediction, the castle began to tremble violently. Holding to his crown with both hands—it was inset with cobble stones which are extremely rare on a jeweled island—Cheeriobed sat down hard upon his throne.

"I must think!" muttered the King in a faint voice.

"Think if you can!" sniffed the Soothsayer, hooking his arm around a pillar. "Can you think a mortal maid into the monster's cave? Can you think of a way to leave the islands, even?"

"Has your Majesty forgotten the golden pear?" Swinging backward and forward on the window curtains as the castle rocked to and fro, Toddledy peered out inquiringly at the King.

"The pear!" chattered Cheeriobed. "No one must pick the golden pear. That is for Prince Philador and to be picked only in times of extreme danger."

"What do you call this?" demanded Akbad indignantly. "Are we to be destroyed without lifting a finger to save ourselves?"

"Philador? Where is Philador?" groaned Cheeriobed, putting both hands to his ears, as Toddledy and Akbad began to scream hoarsely at each other. "Send for the Prince!" Glad to escape from the confusion, and keeping her footing with difficulty, Jewlia ran off to search for the little Prince. By the time she reached the beach, the islands had stopped quivering. Breathlessly Jewlia hastened to the hidden cove where Philador was usually to be found sailing his toy fleet. At the first quake, he had thrown himself face down on the rocks. But so accustomed was Philador to the tempers of Quiberon that he thought nothing of the terrible quakes that rocked the islands from time to time. When the shaking had ceased, Philador jumped up and was unconcernedly feeding the blue gulls as Jewlia came running over the shining sands. As quickly as she could, Jewlia told him of Quiberon's latest demand and of his dark threat to destroy the Kingdom. Then arm in arm they made their way back to the castle. The carpet that could shake itself had unrolled, and Umtillio, looking terribly tossed and ruffled, was sitting in the center, plucking out a sad tune upon his harp. He nodded mournfully as the two children came tip-toeing into the throne room. Akbad was feverishly thumbing over an old book of Necromancy and Toddledy and Cheeriobed were conversing in subdued whispers.

"The only one who can help us is the Good Witch of the North," mused Cheeriobed, as Philador sank down at his feet and rested his head affectionately against his father's knee.

"Let me go to her," begged the little Prince eagerly. "Surely she will help me find my mother and destroy Quiberon before he destroys us."

Cheeriobed shook his head quickly and decidedly. "No! No! It is too dangerous. Besides, there is no way to cross the lake. We must think of something else." Taking off his crown, Cheeriobed gazed sadly off into the distance. Long ago, word had been brought by the blue gulls of the capture of Mombi, the wicked witch of the North, by Tattypoo, who now ruled in her stead. Great had been the rejoicing on the Ozure Isles and hopefully Cheeriobed had waited for Tattypoo to restore his Queen and deliver him from the cruel clutches of Quiberon. But time had passed and nothing had happened. Much of Mombi's mischief had been remedied by the Good Witch of the North, but many of Mombi's misdeeds were not known to her or anyone else in the Land of Oz, so not knowing of Cheeriobed's misfortunes, Tattypoo had done nothing to help him. But the good King always felt that some day Tattypoo would find out about Quiberon and come to his rescue. As he continued to gaze unseeingly straight ahead, as Akbad continued to mutter and Toddledy to groan, the little Prince grew more and more miserable and unhappy. Finally he slipped unnoticed from the throne room and, running down to the shores of the lake, cast himself gloomily on the sapphire rocks. Surely it was sad to live on the loveliest islands in Oz and never to be safe or happy.

"If I could just find a way to cross the lake," muttered Philador, feeling in his pockets for some crumbs to throw the gulls, "then I could find the Good Witch of the North." The gulls were his constant and never failing friends and, as one and then another settled down on the rocks beside him, he told them of Quiberon's demand for a mortal maiden and his threat to destroy the Kingdom. In Oz, as you all know, the birds and beasts can speak and the blue gulls not only listened sympathetically to the little Prince but talked among themselves of Quiberon's cruelty.

"Come back, Princeling, when the moon is high," whispered a little blue lady gull, when the others had flown away. "Come back when the moon is high. I have thought of a way to help you!" Comforted in spite of himself, but resolved to say nothing at all to the King, Philador crept quietly back to the castle.

CHAPTER 2

The Golden Pear

The great silver bells in the sapphire tower had tolled ten. It was night time, and still Cheeriobed and his councillors had thought of no plan to appease Quiberon. In gloomy knots the Ozure Islanders gathered to discuss the almost certain destruction that threatened their Kingdom. In the castle Toddledy and the King pored over ancient books and maps trying to devise some way out of their difficulties, but as Quiberon would allow no one to leave the islands how were they to search for a mortal maiden?

"And even if we did find one," sighed Cheeriobed wearily, "I would never turn her over to a monster like that. We who are magically constructed can be destroyed without pain, but a mortal can be hurt and no one shall ever suffer to save me or my Kingdom."

"Then we must perish, I suppose." Pushing his specs high up on his forehead, Toddledy looked resignedly at the King. "It might be quite restful to be destroyed," observed the poor Prime Moneyster, trying to look on the cheerful side of things. But Umtillio rose with a protesting screech and striking both fiddles at once sobbed dolefully.

"Oh no, no, no! Let us go, go, go, far away!

Cheerio Oh, Oh! You don't know, know, know, what you say!

To be de destroyed with life half enjoyed is too bad,

Can't you see, see, see, it would be, be, be, much too sad?"

"Well, we still have two days," mumbled the King unhappily. "Maybe something will turn up."

"Nothing will ever turn up here but your Majesty's nose," sniffed Akbad, who had been listening to the conversation with growing impatience. "You may stay here and be destroyed if you like, but I, I, Akbad, the Soothsayer, shall think of something better!"

Folding his robes haughtily about him, Akbad swept from the throne room. In his own high tower he flung the sapphire casements wide and leaning both elbows on the sill, stared moodily out into the night.

"Surely it is better for one mortal to be destroyed than a whole Kingdom," reflected Akbad. "The King's a soft hearted old Joffywax. The way to solve a problem is to begin at the beginning and go on to the conclusion. Quiberon desires a mortal maiden and a mortal maiden he shall have. Now where am I to find a mortal maiden?" Striding to the book-case he pulled out a history of Oz which opened almost instantly to the picture of three little girls sitting in a hammock.

Dorothy at Home in Oz

"Dorothy, Betsy and Trot," muttered the Soothsayer, reading the names under the picture. "These little girls, though native Americans, now live in the Emerald City of Oz and are loved and honored by the entire populace." Akbad paused thoughtfully after reading this sentence, then tearing out the page stuffed the picture into his sleeve. "One will be quite enough," he remarked, with a little shrug of his shoulders, "and all that I have to do now is to reach the Emerald City." Standing before a huge map of Oz that covered one side of the wall, Akbad traced with his finger a line between Sapphire City and the capital. Not a great distance, to be sure, but to the old Soothsayer who had never been away from the Ozure Isles in his entire life, it seemed a long and perilous journey. Sinking into an easy chair he began tugging at his whiskers and pulling his long nose and soon a perfectly splendid plan popped into his turbaned head.

"The pear!" puffed Akbad delightedly. "I will pick the golden pear and save myself and the entire Kingdom." Jerking out his magic descriptionary, a booklet all soothsayers carry in their pockets, Akbad turned to the proper page though he knew almost by heart what it would say of the golden pear. "In the gardens of the King grows an emerald tree, bearing always one golden fruit. This fruit shall be plucked by the Prince of the realm in times of extreme danger or peril. It will immediately transport him wheresoever he desires to go."

"If it transports a Prince it will surely carry a soothsayer," decided Akbad. "If the King is too stupid to bid Philador to pick the pear I myself shall pluck it from the bough and save the people from destruction."

The King, as it happened, was at that very moment thinking of the golden fruit. "If nothing turns up to-morrow," yawned his Majesty, blowing out the tall candle beside his bed, "I shall command Philador to pick the magic pear. I have lived a long time and do not mind being destroyed, but he is too young to suffer destruction." Comforted by the thought that the little Prince, at least, would escape so hard a fate, Cheeriobed sank down among his silk cushions and was soon fast asleep. His slumbers would not have been so calm nor his dreams so untroubled had he seen the two figures that presently stepped out of his castle. One passed from the Eastern Gateway into the gardens, the other from the Western Doorway and, after looking all around to see that he was not observed, hastened down to the beach.

In the moonlight the radiant capital of Cheeriobed floated like a City of dreams in a silver mist. Looking over his shoulder at its sparkling turrets and spires, Philador wondered if he should ever have the courage to leave so lovely a spot. Then catching a glimpse of the horrid head of Quiberon, rising suddenly above the waters of Orizon, the little Prince shuddered and gathering his cloak about him hurried down to the rocks. He wondered if the blue gull had kept her promise and looked anxiously up and down the deserted strand. There was no one in sight and dejectedly he was about to return to the castle when a low whistle from a nearby cave came floating up to him.

Running down and into the cave, Philador stopped short in perfect astonishment. Crouched upon the rocks and regarding him with bright interested eyes was a giant blue gull twice as large as Philador himself. On its head, the feathers grew into a circlet that rested like a crown upon its brow.

"You wish to leave the Ozure Isle?" asked the gull quietly. "Climb upon my back, then; you have been kind and gentle to my subjects, therefore I, the grand Mo-gull, King of all the land and sea birds, will carry you wheresoever you wish to go."

For a moment Philador was too startled to move. Then as a deep roar from the throat of Quiberon came reverberating through the grotto, he sprang upon the gull's back and clasping his arms around its neck whispered hoarsely, "Carry me to the Good Witch of the North!"

With scarcely a flutter, the great gull rose, mounting higher and higher, till the Ozure Isles were no more than sparkling dots on the waters of the Lake. Akbad, standing under the magic tree in the King's garden, saw a great shadow cross the moon. Brushing his hand uneasily across his eyes he looked again, but this time the shadow had gone. Concluding that it had been but a dark cloud, the Soothsayer drew a deep breath and, leaning forward, broke the golden pear from the sacred bough. Now Akbad hardly knew what to expect, but the thing that did happen exceeded his wildest imaginings. The pear in his hands grew larger and larger, bursting finally with such a golden splutter and glare he was almost blinded. Stars! It was a pair of wings!

Thoroughly frightened, the soothsayer fell back against the tree, putting up both hands to beat off the whirling pinions. But it was no use. The great wings swooped down upon him and next moment had fastened themselves to his shoulders. His heart, as they lifted him into the air, dropped so suddenly into his boots both boots fell off. Motionless and helpless and just above the emerald tree he hung suspended, trembling so violently his turban came unwound and fluttered like a banner in the evening breeze. For about as long as you could count ten Akbad dangled limply between the golden wings. Then recovering a little of his courage he moistened his lips and muttered weakly.

"Take me to the Emerald City of Oz." Next instant, another shadow had crossed the moon and Akbad, like some strange ungainly bird, was being borne swiftly and silently towards the South.

The Vanished Queen of the Ozure Isles

CHAPTER 3

The Strange Public Benefactor

In the dusty shop of Dan, the second-hand man, there was no sound except the whirr of a rickety sewing machine in the back room. Dan bought old clothes which he mended and pressed and sold again to people who could not afford new ones. Usually he spent every evening in his dim little Boston shop, but to-night Dan's niece was to be married, and the old clothes man was hurriedly stitching up a rent in a dress suit he had bought that very morning from a dusky gentleman in Grant street. It was worn and shabby, but surveying himself in the cracked mirror a few moments later Danny felt he would look quite as fine as the groom. Well pleased with his appearance he nodded to his reflection and taking down a second-hand high hat from his shelf let himself out into the night.

It was a warm starry evening in May and, coming to the end of the narrow street in which he lived, Dan struck out across a small park, whistling softly to himself. He would have preferred his pipe, but in honor of the grand occasion had purchased a handful of five cent cigars. Placing one between his teeth, he fumbled in his pocket for the box of matches he had surely placed there before starting. His fingers closed instead on a small leather book.

"What's this?" exclaimed Danny in surprise and, stepping under a park lamp, he began fluttering over the pages. It was filled with closely written paragraphs in a strangely cramped hand. The words were no words Danny had ever heard or seen. To prove it he settled his specs more firmly and read a whole paragraph aloud, moistening his lips between the long hard sentences, and keeping his cigar in place in his mouth with great difficulty.

"Well, did anyone ever hear the like of that?" chuckled Danny, winking up at the statue of a Public Benefactor who stood facing him in a small plot of grass. "What do you think of it yourself, old felly?"

"I hardly know," murmured the Public Benefactor, letting the arm which had been stiffly extended fall heavily at his side. "I hardly know. You see, I've never thought before, and—"

"Merciful mackerel!" The cigar fell from Danny's lips, the high hat from his head and hurling the leather book into a clump of bushes, he turned and fled for his life, bumping into trees and benches and running in the opposite direction from the wedding. In fact, I am not sure he ever did get to the wedding at all. The Public Benefactor watched him go with round unwinking eyes, then stepping down from his pedestal, picked up the high hat, fortunately an extremely large one, and placed it gravely upon his head.

"Now for an umbrella," murmured the stone gentleman determinedly. "I must have an umbrella. What I've suffered all these years, rain and snow. Ah—hh." Catching sight of an old lady hurrying down one of the cinder paths, he called loudly. "Stop! Stop! Give me that umbrella!" For some seconds the old lady who was quite deaf paid no attention, but when, looking over her shoulder, she saw a gray stone gentleman in a frock coat pounding after her, waving both arms, she picked up her skirts, jumped over a little hedge and fell face down among the pansies. Without feeling at all sorry, or stopping to help her to her feet, the Public Benefactor took the umbrella from her hand. Opening it with a little grunt of satisfaction and holding it over his head as he had seen other people do, he stepped carelessly over the old lady and continued down the cinder path. "I've always wanted to be like other people," mused the statue, striding along contentedly, "and now, I am. But I wonder why I never did this before?"

Why indeed? Simply because he had never been alive before. The words in the little black book must have held some strange and mysterious force; the owner of Danny's dress suit must have been a powerful magician to bring this cold statue to life. And as he strode across the little Boston park, with Danny's hat upon his head and the old lady's umbrella clasped tightly in his hand, little boys who had come for a quiet game of marbles before bed time, men and women on their way home to tea, stared in perfect astonishment and then took to their heels, screaming hoarsely as they ran.

"I'm acting just the way they are acting, and yet they run away," grumbled the Public Benefactor crossly. "What's the matter with them anyway?" He sank down on a park bench to puzzle it all out, but the bench, which had been built to hold only ordinary folk, crumpled like a match under his great weight. A tramp who had been asleep on the other end, wakened by the terrible tumble, took one glance at the stone man, then rolled into a clump of shrubbery where he lay trembling so violently leaves fell in showers to the walk. By the time the Public Benefactor had struggled to his feet a great crowd had gathered. At a safe distance they peered at him, waving their arms, shaking their heads and looking so frightened the Public Benefactor began to feel frightened himself.

Turning his back upon them, he walked out of the park and straight into the middle of a busy crossing. Here he stopped to gaze at a winking electric sign when a dreadful thump almost knocked the umbrella from his hand, and a series of shouts almost raised the hat from his head. A motor truck going at a fast clip had run right into him! But instead of upsetting the stone man, the truck splintered to bits and lay scattered about the street like a broken toy! Surely a pleasant change from breaking up poor pedestrians. But the truck driver did not seem to think so. Separating himself from the wreckage, he advanced threateningly upon the Public Benefactor. But one good look at that calm stone figure seemed to be enough. A mounted policeman leaning down seized the high hatted gentleman by the arm, then feeling the hard stone beneath his fingers he reined back his horse and blew a shrill blast on his whistle.

In less than a minute the street was a seething mass of men, women, little girls and boys, all striving for a glimpse of the man who had stopped a truck. Next someone turned in a fire alarm and the fire engines came clanging on the scene. The firemen not knowing what else to do turned their hose full upon the offending statue.

Alarmed and disgusted, and protecting himself as well as he could with the old lady's umbrella, the Public Benefactor decided to return to his pedestal. But in the excitement he took a wrong turning. Then he began to run and the crowd to run after him—faster and faster and faster. His stone feet, thudding upon the asphalt, shook the houses on both sides and, dodging as best he could the sticks, stones and other missiles of his pursuers, the poor bewildered statue ran on. Being very large and perfectly tireless, he soon out-distanced them and, looking over his shoulder to make sure, failed to notice the steep embankment ahead, till it was too late. The workmen themselves had not intended to blow such a terrific hole in the earth; a thin crust of earth at the bottom hid the yawning cavity from view. But the stone man, tumbling head over heels down the steep sides, crashed through this crust as if it had been paper and plunged into a damp darkness.

"What now?" groaned the statue dismally, clutching his umbrella. "Am I a bird? Why, Oh why did I ever leave my pedestal?" But wishing made no difference at all and down he dropped to the very bottom of no where. Then all at once he crashed through a crust of blue sky out into the blazing sunlight and thumped down in the middle of a broad green field. Luckily he landed upon his feet, but so hard and so heavily that he went down to his knees in soft earth. For a few moments he stood perfectly still. Then, closing his umbrella, he pulled one leg and then the other out of the mud and took a few steps to shake the stuff from his stone shins.

"It was night and now it is day. I was there and now I am here. What next?" he muttered uneasily. The country into which he had fallen so suddenly seemed safe enough. Green fields, dotted with feathery trees, stretched to the right and left. But after the dusty Boston park it seemed large and lonely. As he gazed about uncertainly, he noticed a blue figure, walking briskly along a yellow highway that ran through the center of the fields. He had never in his whole carved career seen a fellow like this and as the figure drew nearer he grasped his umbrella firmly and made ready to fight or run.

It was a Scarecrow, a live, jolly, sure enough straw stuffed Scarecrow. As he came opposite he took off his hat.

"Good after-night," said the Scarecrow politely. The Public Benefactor made an unsuccessful effort to remove his own hat, but he had jammed it down too hard.

"I suppose you mean good morning," he remarked stiffly, returning the Scarecrow's bow.

"Have it your own way," smiled the Scarecrow, with a care free wave, "and speaking of ways, where are you going?"

"I'm not going, I'm coming," announced the Public Benefactor sulkily. The experiences of the past few hours had made him suspicious of every place and everybody. The Scarecrow considered his answer for a few seconds in silence, then stepping closer inquired earnestly, "Tell me, are you a person?"

"Are you?" At this quick and unexpected turning of his question, the Scarecrow threw back his head and laughed heartily.

"I don't know," he admitted merrily, "whether I'm a person or not, but I do know that I'm alive and it's great fun to be alive!"

"Is it?" The Public Benefactor looked dubiously into the Scarecrow's cheerful cotton countenance. "I'm not sure I like it," he sighed, shaking his head ponderously.

"Oh, you'll get used to it." Clapping on his hat, the straw man regarded his companion attentively. "You're the only live statue I've ever seen," he observed at last. "How do you happen to be alive?" There was something so jolly about this queer fellow, the poor statue began to feel a little happier.

"First," he began slowly, "I was quarried, then I was hacked and hewn into my present shape. For many years I stood on a pedestal in a little park in the city of Boston. While I could neither move nor talk I could see and hear all that went on about me. And what I saw and heard was interesting enough. I watched the children sail their boats in the small pond, listened to the band on warm summer evenings and observed the strange habits of the men and women who walked about under the trees. If I had just had a hat or umbrella to protect me from the rain and snow, I could have been perfectly happy."

"You must be perfectly happy now," put in the Scarecrow slyly, "for I see you have both." The Public Benefactor shook his head impatiently at the interruption.

"Once a year," he continued pompously, "a crowd of citizens came and hung wreaths around my neck, and in long tedious speeches which I could not understand referred to me as a great public benefactor. Do you know what a Public Benefactor is?" he inquired curiously.

"Well," answered the Scarecrow cautiously, "you probably founded a school or a library or gave large sums of money to the poor. What was your name anyway?"

"I never knew," replied the gray stone gentleman sadly. "It was carved on the base of my pedestal and as I was unable to bend over I could never discover this interesting information."

"Then I shall call you Benny," decided the Scarecrow cheerfully, "short for public benefactor, you know. Do you look like the person you're supposed to be?"

The statue shook his head. "I don't know that either," he admitted gloomily.

"Oh, never mind that," said the Scarecrow, sitting down on a nearby tree stump. "You are a speaking likeness of somebody, but how did you come to life?"

"I was coming to that," exclaimed Benny quickly, and in short excited sentences he told how an old Irishman in evening clothes had stopped under the park lamp and read some strange words from a little black book and how he immediately felt a desire to step down from his pedestal. "So I did," he went on mournfully, and proceeded to relate his terrifying experiences and his final fall into this strange land. "It is very queer," he finished in a depressed voice. "When I was uninteresting and unalive, people treated me with respect and hung wreaths around my neck, yet when I came to life they turned a hose on me and even hit me with bricks."

The Scarecrow shook his head. "There's no accounting for mortals," he explained solemnly, "but now that you are in the fairy Kingdom of Oz, things will be different. Anybody can be alive here, and no questions asked. They even let me live!" he concluded gaily.

"Is it a republic?" asked Benny, eyeing the Scarecrow with new interest.

"Indeed not!" exclaimed the straw man loftily. "We are a magic monarchy under the beneficent rule of a little fairy and there—," he waved proudly to the left, "lies the capital. If you wish, I will take you to the Emerald City at once and present you to the Queen. What would you like to be now that you are alive?" he asked curiously.

"Well," said Benny after a moment's thought, "I should like to be a real person. Do you think I could ever be a real person, Scarecrow?" The Scarecrow took off his hat and pulled several wisps of straw from his head.

"I don't see why not," he decided brightly. "The way to be a real person is to act like a real person. Just begin acting like a real person, Benny, my boy, and first thing you know you'll be one!"

"Is that what you did?" Benny looked doubtfully at this strange citizen of Oz. The Scarecrow nodded modestly and, taking the stone man's elbow, started down the yellow brick highway. "Look alive now," he chuckled merrily, "for you are to meet a Queen."

"It's hard for a stone man to look alive but I'll do the best I can," sighed the Public Benefactor in a resigned voice. "How do you happen to be alive yourself?" he inquired heavily.

"That!" said the Scarecrow airily, "that is a long story, you see—"

"I see a great ugly bird," interrupted the Public Benefactor, waving his umbrella wildly. "Let's run; I never did like birds. They perch on my head."

"Pray do not concern yourself," begged his companion earnestly, "and try to act like a real person, can't you?" Withdrawing his arm from Benny's the Scarecrow took off his hat and blinked upward.

"Well," queried Benny nervously, "what would a real person do now?"

"He would run," choked the Scarecrow in a hoarse whisper. "Run you son of a boulder, run!"

CHAPTER 4

Finding a Mortal Maiden

So well did Benny carry out the Scarecrow's instruction, the flimsy straw man was jerked from the ground and fairly flew through the air at the stone man's side. And so intent were they both upon their running, they never saw the little girl in the pink dress until they had bumped right into her. Now to be run into is upsetting under any circumstances, but to be run into by a live statue is the most upsetting thing yet. Trot, for it was Trot, not only was upset but rolled over and over and bumped her head on an emerald milestone at the side of the road.

"Stop!" cried the Scarecrow, recognizing her at once. "Now see what you've done!"

"But the bird!" quavered Benny coming to a reluctant halt and glancing fearfully over his shoulder.

With an impatient exclamation the Scarecrow dropped his hand and hurried over to Trot. "Fancy, running into you like this," he puffed ruefully.

"Fancy it!" gasped Trot rubbing her head with one hand and her knee with the other, "I don't fancy it at all. Why don't you look where you're going!" She frowned crossly at the Scarecrow and then catching a glimpse of Benny jumped to her feet in real alarm. "Who's he?" she asked in a frightened whisper.

"Just now he's a Public Benefactor, but he's trying to be a real person," explained the Scarecrow hastily. "Benny, old fellow, this is Trot, a little girl from California who was shipwrecked and came to the Land of Oz. She lives in the royal palace with Ozma. Benny comes from America too," he added proudly.

This Is Trot

"But the bird!" panted Benny, nodding absently to Trot.

"You see my dear, we were escaping from a horriblus bird when we ran across you," apologized the Scarecrow with an anxious glance upward.

"I don't see any bird." Still rubbing her knee, Trot looked up too and after they had all gazed intently at the sky for several minutes they had to admit that Trot was right. There was not even a speck in the bright blue expanse overhead.

"But there was a bird, a most fearful, queerful bird," the Scarecrow assured her positively. Trot gave a little sniff and while she did not exactly say so, both Benny and the Scarecrow felt that she did not believe there had been any bird at all.

"I was coming to see you," continued the Scarecrow in a slightly embarrassed voice. "How fortunate that we met this way, now we can all go to the Emerald City together." Trot, looking down at her skinned knee and feeling the lump on her forehead, could not help thinking it had not been so fortunate for her, but being a really sweet-tempered little girl she said nothing further and walked along quietly between these two singular looking gentlemen. The Scarecrow she had known for years, but she kept stealing inquisitive glances at his solemn stone companion. Seeing her evident interest, the straw man told her all about Benny's strange coming to life and his fall into Oz.

"Do you think I can ever be a real person?" asked Benny wistfully as the Scarecrow finished his story. "Now, as you see, I am a hard person of stone. But I wish to be like other people, to laugh, to sing, to dance and be happy."

It was hard to imagine this pompous looking image singing and dancing, but Trot had seen stranger things than this happen in the marvelous Land of Oz, so, stifling her misgivings, smiled at him kindly.

"You'll have to be a little careful about dancing," she cautioned gently, "not to step on anyone's foot, or hold them too tightly or—"

"Ho Ho!" roared the Scarecrow. "I should say you had better be careful. One step from your stone toes, and one squeeze from those stone arms would finish any partner brave enough to waltz round with you." At this the stone man looked so downcast that Trot felt really sorry for him.

"I guess stone arms and legs are not much use," he sighed, rolling his eyes sadly at the little girl.

"But they're terribly strong," Trot reminded him cheerfully, "and would be fine in a battle. And after awhile, when you're quite used to being alive, I wouldn't mind dancing with you," finished Trot in a little burst of generosity.

"Wouldn't you?" Stopping stock still, Benny began to bow. "My dear," exclaimed the stone man gratefully, and bending so low he almost lost his balance, "those are the kindest words I've heard since I came to life and to Oz." Trot, pleased and delighted at such appreciation, curtsied back.

"Hurrah!" shouted the Scarecrow, tossing his hat into the air. "You're acting realer every minute. Do you know, this reminds me of my first journey to the Emerald City. I was not always the accomplished person you see before you," he confided mysteriously.

For a long time Benny had been trying to puzzle out just what kind of a person the Scarecrow was. Never in his whole park experience had he seen anyone so curiously constructed, so unsteady and flimsy, yet so gaily alive. He listened attentively therefore as the straw man began to tell his story to his new friend.

"I am a Scarecrow," he began impressively, and I must admit he was as fond of talking about himself as most of the gentlemen of my own acquaintance. Trot who had heard the story many times began to hum a little tune and to think of something else.

"Originally," continued the Scarecrow brightly, "I was intended to scare away the crows from a farmer's corn field. My head is a small stuffed sack on which the features are neatly painted. This blue suit and these red boots and cotton gloves belonged to the farmer; also this hat. Having assembled me in this more or less careless fashion and stuffed me with hay, he hung me upon a tall pole in the corn field and went about his planting. For a long time I hung around, not knowing how interesting life could be. Then, one day," the Scarecrow paused and waved his arms dramatically, "along came Dorothy, a little girl about the size of Trot. She had been blown from Kansas by a cyclone and was on her way to the Emerald City to ask the Wizard of Oz to send her back home. Well, to make a long story short, Dorothy lifted me from my pole and I found I could walk and talk almost as fast as she could. But while I was alive, I realized that I could never be a really important person with a head full of hay. So I decided to go to the Emerald City with Dorothy and ask the Wizard of Oz to give me some brains."

"Well, did he?" Benny looked curiously at the Scarecrow's bulging forehead.

"Haven't you noticed them?" demanded the Scarecrow in a vexed voice. Removing his hat he tapped the top of his head proudly. "In here are the finest and most magic brains in Oz," he announced seriously. "Not only did they help me to become an Emperor, but they have since solved many questions of state for our present ruler, Ozma of Oz. I can think of anything, can't I, Trot?"

The little girl nodded politely and Benny, much impressed, watched the Scarecrow put on his hat. "I have a castle of my own in the Winkie Country but spend most of my time in the Emerald City," he concluded proudly.

"Did the Wizard send Dorothy back to America?" asked Benny, as the Scarecrow stopped to pick a green rose for Trot.

"Certainly!" answered the Scarecrow, pulling two thorns from his cotton thumb, "but she is in Oz again. No one who has lived in Oz can stay away long. Dorothy lives in the castle with Ozma, Betsy and Trot. Betsy Bobbin is another little girl from America, so you see you'll have lots of company, old fellow."

Princess Dorothy

"Does the Wizard live there, too?" questioned Benny eagerly, as the Scarecrow clumsily presented the rose to Trot, "and do you think he could change me to a real person?"

"Of course, but if I were you, I should stay as you are. There are lots of real people but precious few stone ones. Think of the advantages!" Tapping Benny lightly on the chest the Scarecrow began to enumerate them. "First of all," he explained merrily, "you will never tire, need food or suffer pain. You will never wear out nor require clothes. Why, you have all the advantages of life without any of its inconveniences. Isn't that true, Trot?"

Trot smiled and made a gesture that might have been "yes" or "no". It would have taken a wiser person than Trot to settle a question like the Scarecrow's.

They were drawing nearer to the Emerald City every moment now. Over the tree tops ahead, Benny could see the tall towers and flashing spires of the castle. The air was fresh, fragrant and somehow exciting. On each side of the yellow brick road, cozy green cottages with domed emerald roofs began to appear. Friendly faced folk, in stiff green silk costumes, waved to them from the doorways. Trot and the Scarecrow waved back, and Benny, taking off his hat and bowing stiffly from time to time, decided that he was going to find life in the Land of Oz extremely pleasant and interesting. At Trot's suggestion they turned off the yellow brick highway to take a short cut to the castle.

"Well," laughed Trot, dancing along through the pleasant little wood, "We'll soon be in the Emerald City now, and then—and then!"

"Then what?" wheezed the Scarecrow, stopping to swing on a low branch.

"Why, then we'll have a party!" exclaimed Trot. "Don't we always have a party when you come to the castle, but this party will be for Benny, in honor of his coming to life." The stone man was not sure just what a party was, but so long as Trot was in it he knew everything would be all right. "We'll have games," continued the little girl happily, "and music and riddles and refreshments—and—"

"Stop!" roared an imperious voice in Trot's ear. "Now then, will you come along peaceably or must I use force?" At this sudden horrid interruption, Benny and the Scarecrow swung round in perfect astonishment.

"A—a Goblin!" faltered Trot, catching wildly at Benny.

"Run! Run! That awful bird!" panted the Scarecrow, taking a great leap forward.

"Run if you want to," rumbled the Public Benefactor stopping short. "But as I am not a real person, I shall stay here and fight. Get away from here, you wild Whankus! Leave Trot alone, you old Wallybuster!" Words that he had never known were in his head came tumbling from Benny's stone lips and brandishing his umbrella threateningly he stepped between the little girl and the great ugly bird-man. But Akbad, for of course it was Akbad, paid no attention to Benny's expostulations. He was looking earnestly at the picture he had torn from his history of Oz. All night the magic wings had carried him steadily toward the capital and it was Akbad who had scared the two travelers. After frightening them to his heart's content, he had alighted in a small orchard to refresh himself with a few peaches. When he flew on again the wings had carried him straight after Trot and her companions. Looking down and seeing a little girl with them this time, he had immediately dropped to earth.

"You'll do, you're one of them!" shrilled the Soothsayer, waving the picture triumphantly. "Come on, there's no time to lose!" Before either Benny or the Scarecrow realized what was happening, Akbad seized the little girl and spread his great golden wings.

"Stop!" yelled the Scarecrow, running back and catching Trot by the hand.

"Stop!" gritted Benny, making a wild snatch for the Soothsayer's heels. As Benny's stone fingers closed around his ankles Akbad soared into the air. You would have thought the great weight of the stone man would have held him down. But what are a thousand pounds to a pair of magic wings! Up and away, over the sparkling spires of the capital circled Akbad, paying no more attention to Benny than to a feather and scarcely noticing the Scarecrow at all.

"Take us to the Ozure Isles," he commanded, tightening his grasp on Trot's arm.

CHAPTER 5

In the Cave of Quiberon

It had taken the golden wings nearly nine hours to carry Akbad to the Emerald City. It took scarcely five to bring him back, so that it was a little after noon when the Soothsayer and his prisoners reached the sparkling shores of the Ozure Isles. Not a word had been spoken by anyone during the entire flight. Trot had started to scream, but the wind rushing down her throat about a mile a minute had almost choked her. When she managed to get her mouth shut again she was glad to keep it that way, her eyes too, for that matter. Benny was too startled to say anything and the Scarecrow had all he could do to keep himself from blowing apart. But as Akbad, folding his wings, began to descend, Trot with a long sigh opened her eyes.

The five lovely islands of Cheeriobed lay glittering just below and Trot gave a little gasp of relief and pleasure, as they hovered over the gorgeous Sapphire City. Frightened though she was, Trot's heart began to beat with excitement and curiosity. Surely nothing so very dreadful could happen in a place like this! But Akbad did not stop, and flying over the beautiful city carried them to the extreme end of the last island. Here the waters of Orizon were pounding and roaring between two jeweled cliffs. Between the two cliffs and at the very mouth of a great cave, Akbad closed his wings. With a suddenness that took what little breath Trot had left, they came tumbling down on the narrow beach. Benny got such a thump, he let go the Soothsayer's heels and almost fell into the lake. Trot and the Scarecrow rolled over twice and, clutching each other wildly, sat up, simply speechless with indignation.

"You," puffed Akbad, for he, too, was worn out by the long fly, "you have been chosen to save the Ozure Isles." He shook his long finger in Trot's face. "These others may escape if they wish, but you must stay and serve the monster Quiberon." As Trot, blinking her eyes between shock and consternation, tried to understand what it was all about, there came a great snort and splashing and in toward the cave swam the monster himself.

"Here's your mortal maiden!" yelled Akbad, and spreading his wings, rose quickly into the air, leaving Trot and her friends to face the giant fear-fish. Benny had by this time struggled to his feet, but at sight of the monster he nearly lost his balance again. As for Trot and the Scarecrow, after one horrified glance, they seized hands and dashed in the only direction open to them—straight into the blue cave.

"Wait!" thundered Quiberon, shooting a long tongue of flame from his fiery nostrils. He was so close that the fire and smoke blackened both Benny's eyes. With a grunt of surprise and displeasure, the stone man snatched up his umbrella and pounded after Trot and the Scarecrow.

"Wait," Thundered Quiberon

"I thought you said that in Oz things would be different," shouted Benny, grinding the jeweled pebbles on the floor of the cave to powder beneath his flying stone boots.

"Well, isn't this different?" stuttered the Scarecrow, tripping over a sapphire boulder and sprawling upon his nose.

"Oh, hurry!" begged Trot, jerking him quickly to his feet. "Here it comes." At another time the three travelers might have paused to admire the great jeweled grotto, but with this snorting, puffing monster at their heels they scarcely glanced at the sapphire icicles hanging from the roof and jutting out from the sides and the sparkling gems that strewed the floor of the cave. Water rushed through the center and it was no easy task running over the rocks and boulders at the side. The glowing eyes of the monster lighted up the whole cavern. Like a steam engine, he puffed and snorted behind them, filling the air with a sulphurous smoke, till it smelled like twenty Fourths of July rolled into one. At every flash from his nostrils, the poor Scarecrow would wince and shudder.

"One spark, and I am an ash heap!" groaned the unhappy straw man, leaping wildly from boulder to rock.

"What shall we do now?" wailed Trot, stopping in dismay, for they had come to the very back of the cavern and could run no farther.

"I don't know what a real person would do," panted Benny glancing around desperately, "but I'll do something. Quick, squeeze into that little opening." There was just time for Trot and the Scarecrow to slip into the narrow crevice at the back of the cave before Quiberon dragged himself out of the water and flung himself up on the rocks.

"Where is the mortal maiden?" roared the great dragon, as Benny placed himself bravely between his friends and the monster.

"Turn off your fire works! Do you want to burn her to a crisp?" shouted the stone man, waving his umbrella boldly under Quiberon's very nose. "Can't you talk without smoking?" he continued crossly, "You're turning me quite black."

"Speak without smoking," muttered the monster in a puzzled voice. "Well, I might try it. Is this better?" he grunted presently. Benny nodded and waving the cloud of smoke from before his eyes peered anxiously downward.

"What do you want with Trot?" he asked suspiciously.

"I want her for a servant," answered Quiberon promptly. "She must polish my scales, comb my hair," he lifted a great silver lock that hung between his horns, "sweep out the cave and tell me stories." Benny was about to snap his stone fingers in the monster's face, when Trot tapped him sharply on the ankles.

"Don't make him angry," whispered the little girl. "Maybe if I tried it for a time we could find a way to escape." Disgusted at the thought of Trot even looking at such a creature, Benny nevertheless realized that she was more experienced in the ways of this fairy kingdom than he was. Stifling an impulse to jump on the monster's head Benny called gruffly:

"Will you promise not to hurt her?"

"Not at first," agreed Quiberon readily enough. "Not till she tells me all she knows about mortals. That's fair enough, isn't it?" With an angry grunt Benny stepped aside and Trot and the Scarecrow slipped out of the crevice.

"Remember now, no more firing," quavered the Scarecrow, "and no nonsense either!"

"Pooh!" sniffed Quiberon so vigorously the Scarecrow was blown five feet into the air and only saved by the quick action of Benny from falling into the tumbling stream below.

"What shall I do first?" asked Trot, bowing timidly to Quiberon.

"You may practice some songs," purred the dragon drowsily. "And when I return you may sing me to sleep."

"Are we going to stand for this?" demanded Benny in a furious whisper to the Scarecrow, who was balanced insecurely on a sharp spike jutting out from the side of the cave.

"Hush!" warned the Scarecrow. "I'm thinking!" And putting his cotton finger to his wrinkled forehead he gazed intently at the ceiling.

"I shall be just outside, so don't try running away," advised Quiberon, sliding into the water with a tremendous splash and in a few minutes his glittering tail had disappeared through the opening of the cave.

"Well!" exclaimed Trot, clasping her hands resignedly, "I've never tried singing a dragon to sleep, but I suppose there must always be a first time. I hope he doesn't put his head in my lap, though."

"He'd better not!" stormed Benny, tramping angrily up and down. "I'll dance on his talons, I'll tread on his tail and pull out his whiskers!"