The Magic of Oz

Slowly the Glass Cat got upon its feet, yawned and then looked at the three who stood before it.

“How dare you disturb me?” it asked in a peevish voice. “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Never mind that,” returned the Sailor. “Do you remember tellin’ me yesterday ’bout a Magic Flower in a Gold Pot?”

“Do you think I’m a fool? Look at my brains – you can see ’em work. Of course I remember!” said the cat.

“Well, where can we find it?”

“You can’t. It’s none of your business, anyhow. Go away and let me sleep,” advised the Glass Cat.

“Now, see here,” said Dorothy; “we want the Magic Flower to give to Ozma on her birthday. You’d be glad to please Ozma, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” replied the creature. “Why should I want to please anybody?”

“You’ve got a heart, ’cause I can see it inside of you,” said Trot.

“Yes; it’s a pretty heart, and I’m fond of it,” said the cat, twisting around to view its own body. “But it’s made from a ruby, and it’s hard as nails.”

“Aren’t you good for anything?” asked Trot.

“Yes, I’m pretty to look at, and that’s more than can be said of you,” retorted the creature.

Trot laughed at this, and Dorothy, who understood the Glass Cat pretty well, said soothingly:

“You are indeed beautiful, and if you can tell Cap’n Bill where to find the Magic Flower, all the people in Oz will praise your cleverness. The Flower will belong to Ozma, but everyone will know the Glass Cat discovered it.”

This was the kind of praise the crystal creature liked.

“Well,” it said, while the pink brains rolled around, “I found the Magic Flower way up in the north of the Munchkin Country where few people live or ever go. There’s a river there that flows through a forest, and in the middle of the river in the middle of the forest there is a small island on which stands the gold pot in which grows the Magic Flower.”

“How did you get to the island?” asked Dorothy. “Glass cats can’t swim.”

“No, but I’m not afraid of water,” was the reply. “I just walked across the river on the bottom.”

“Under the water?” exclaimed Trot.

The cat gave her a scornful look.

“How could I walk over the water on the bottom of the river? If you were transparent, anyone could see your brains were not working. But I’m sure you could never find the place alone. It has always been hidden from the Oz people.”

“But you, with your fine pink brains, could find it again, I s’pose,” remarked Dorothy.

“Yes; and if you want that Magic Flower for Ozma, I’ll go with you and show you the way.”

“That’s lovely of you!” declared Dorothy. “Trot and Cap’n Bill will go with you, for this is to be their birthday present to Ozma. While you’re gone I’ll have to find something else to give her.”

“All right. Come on, then, Cap’n,” said the Glass Cat, starting to move away.

“Wait a minute,” begged Trot. “How long will we be gone?”

“Oh, about a week.”

“Then I’ll put some things in a basket to take with us,” said the girl, and ran into the palace to make her preparations for the journey.

Ozma’s Birthday Presents

CHAPTER 6

When Cap’n Bill and Trot and the Glass Cat had started for the hidden island in the far-off river to get the Magic Flower, Dorothy wondered again what she could give Ozma on her birthday. She met the Patchwork Girl and said:

“What are you going to give Ozma for a birthday present?”

“I’ve written a song for her,” answered the strange Patchwork Girl, who went by the name of “Scraps,” and who, though stuffed with cotton, had a fair assortment of mixed brains. “It’s a splendid song and the chorus runs this way:

“I am crazy;
You’re a daisy,
Ozma dear;
I’m demented;
You’re contented,
Ozma dear;
I am patched and gay and glary;
You’re a sweet and lovely fairy;
May your birthdays all be happy,
Ozma dear!”

“How do you like it, Dorothy?” inquired the Patchwork Girl.

“Is it good poetry, Scraps?” asked Dorothy, doubtfully.

“It’s as good as any ordinary song,” was the reply. “I have given it a dandy title, too. I shall call the song: ‘When Ozma Has a Birthday, Everybody’s Sure to Be Gay, for She Cannot Help the Fact That She Was Born.’”

“That’s a pretty long title, Scraps,” said Dorothy.

“That makes it stylish,” replied the Patchwork Girl, turning a somersault and alighting on one stuffed foot. “Now-a-days the titles are sometimes longer than the songs.”

Dorothy left her and walked slowly toward the palace, where she met the Tin Woodman just going up the front steps.

“What are you going to give Ozma on her birthday?” she asked.

“It’s a secret, but I’ll tell you,” replied the Tin Woodman, who was Emperor of the Winkies. “I am having my people make Ozma a lovely girdle set with beautiful tin nuggets. Each tin nugget will be surrounded by a circle of emeralds, just to set it off to good advantage. The clasp of the girdle will be pure tin! Won’t that be fine?”

“I’m sure she’ll like it,” said Dorothy. “Do you know what I can give her?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, Dorothy. It took me three months to think of my own present for Ozma.”

The girl walked thoughtfully around to the back of the palace, and presently came upon the famous Scarecrow of Oz, who was having two of the palace servants stuff his legs with fresh straw.