Chapter One

Ojo and Unc Nunkie

“Where’s the butter, Unc Nunkie?” asked Ojo.

Unc looked out of the window and stroked his

long beard. Then he turned to the Munchkin boy and

shook his head.

“Isn’t,” said he.

“Isn’t any butter? That’s too bad, Unc. Where’s

the jam then?” inquired Ojo, standing on a stool

so he could look through all the shelves of the

cupboard. But Unc Nunkie shook his head again.

“Gone,” he said.

“No jam, either? And no cake—no jelly—no

apples—nothing but bread?”

“All,” said Unc, again stroking his beard as he

gazed from the window.

The little boy brought the stool and sat be side

his uncle, munching the dry bread slowly and

seeming in deep thought.

“Nothing grows in our yard but the bread

tree,” he mused, “and there are only two more

loaves on that tree; and they’re not ripe yet. Tell

me, Unc; why are we so poor?”

The old Munchkin turned and looked at Ojo. He

had kindly eyes, but he hadn’t smiled or laughed

in so long that the boy had forgotten that Unc

Nunkie could look any other way than solemn. And

Unc never spoke any more words than he was obliged

to, so his little nephew, who lived alone with

him, had learned to understand a great deal from

one word.

“Why are we so poor, Unc?” repeated the

“Not,” said the old Munchkin.

“I think we are,” declared Ojo. “What have we

got?”

“House,” said Unc Nunkie.

“I know; but everyone in the Land of Oz

has a place to live. What else, Unc?”

“Bread.”

“I’m eating the last loaf that’s ripe. There;

I’ve put aside your share, Unc. It’s on the table,

so you can eat it when you get hungry. But when

that is gone, what shall we eat, Unc?”

The old man shifted in his chair but merely

shook his head.

“Of course,” said Ojo, who was obliged to talk

because his uncle would not, “no one starves in

the Land of Oz, either. There is plenty for

everyone, you know; only, if it isn’t just where

you happen to be, you must go where it is.”

The aged Munchkin wriggled again and stared at

his small nephew as if disturbed by his argument.

“By tomorrow morning,” the boy went on, we must

go where there is something to eat, or we shall

grow very hungry and become very unhappy.”

“Where?” asked Unc.

“Where shall we go? I don’t know, I’m sure,”

replied Ojo. “But you must know, Unc. You must

have traveled, in your time, because you’re so

old. I don’t remember it, because ever since I

could remember anything we’ve lived right here in

this lonesome, round house, with a little garden

back of it and the thick woods all around. All

I’ve ever seen of the great Land of Oz, Unc dear,

is the view of that mountain over at the south,

where they say the Hammerheads live—who won’t let

anybody go by them—and that mountain at the

north, where they say nobody lives.”

“One,” declared Unc, correcting him.

“Oh, yes; one family lives there, I’ve heard.

That’s the Crooked Magician, who is named

Dr. Pipt, and his wife Margolotte. One year you

told me about them; I think it took you a whole

year, Unc, to say as much as I’ve just said about

the Crooked Magician and his wife. They live

high up on the mountain, and the good Munchkin

Country, where the fruits and flowers grow, is

just the other side. It’s funny you and I should

live here all alone, in the middle of the forest,

Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Unc.

“Then let’s go away and visit the Munchkin

Country and its jolly, good-natured people. I’d

love to get a sight of something besides woods,

Unc Nunkie.”

“Too little,” said Unc.

“Why, I’m not so little as I used to be,”

answered the boy earnestly. “I think I can walk

as far and as fast through the woods as you

can, Unc. And now that nothing grows in our

back yard that is good to eat, we must go where

there is food.”

Unc Nunkie made no reply for a time. Then

he shut down the window and turned his chair

to face the room, for the sun was sinking behind

the tree-tops and it was growing cool.

By and by Ojo lighted the fire and the logs

blazed freely in the broad fireplace. The two sat

in the firelight a long time—the old, white-bearded Munchkin and the little boy. Both were

thinking. When it grew quite dark outside, Ojo

said:

“Eat your bread, Unc, and then we will go to

bed.”

But Unc Nunkie did not eat the bread; neither

did he go directly to bed. Long after his little

nephew was sound asleep in the corner of the room

the old man sat by the fire, thinking.