Chapter Three

The Patchwork Girl

Ojo examined this curious contrivance with wonder.

The Patchwork Girl was taller than he, when she

stood upright, and her body was plump and rounded

because it had been so neatly stuffed with cotton.

Margolotte had first made the girl’s form from the

patchwork quilt and then she had dressed it with a

patchwork skirt and an apron with pockets in it—

using the same gay material throughout. Upon the

feet she had sewn a pair of red leather shoes with

pointed toes. All the fingers and thumbs of the

girl’s hands had been carefully formed and stuffed

and stitched at the edges, with gold plates at the

ends to serve as finger-nails.

“She will have to work, when she comes to

life,” said Marglotte.

The head of the Patchwork Girl was the most

curious part of her. While she waited for her

husband to finish making his Powder of Life the

woman had found ample time to complete the head as

her fancy dictated, and she realized that a good

servant’s head must be properly constructed. The

hair was of brown yarn and hung down on her neck

in several neat braids. Her eyes were two silver

suspender-buttons cut from a pair of the

Magician’s old trousers, and they were sewed on

with black threads, which formed the pupils of the

eyes. Margolotte had puzzled over the ears for

some time, for these were important if the servant

was to hear distinctly, but finally she had made

them out of thin plates of gold and attached them

in place by means of stitches through tiny holes

bored in the metal. Gold is the most common metal

in the Land of Oz and is used for many purposes

because it is soft and pliable.

The woman had cut a slit for the Patchwork

Girl’s mouth and sewn two rows of white pearls

in it for teeth, using a strip of scarlet plush for

a tongue. This mouth Ojo considered very artistic

and lifelike, and Margolotte was pleased when the

boy praised it. There were almost too many patches

on the face of the girl for her to be considered

strictly beautiful, for one cheek was yellow and

the other red, her chin blue, her forehead purple

and the center, where her nose had been formed and

padded, a bright yellow.

“You ought to have had her face all pink,”

suggested the boy.

“I suppose so; but I had no pink cloth,” replied

the woman. “Still, I cannot see as it matters

much, for I wish my Patchwork Girl to be useful

rather than ornamental. If I get tired looking at

her patched face I can whitewash it.”

“Has she any brains?” asked Ojo.

“No; I forgot all about the brains!” exclaimed

the woman. “I am glad you reminded me of

them, for it is not too late to supply them, by

any means. Until she is brought to life I can

do anything I please with this girl. But I must

be careful not to give her too much brains, and

those she has must be such as are fitted to the

station she is to occupy in life. In other words,

her brains mustn’t be very good.”

“Wrong,” said Unc Nunkie.

“No; I am sure I am right about that,” returned

the woman.

“He means,” explained Ojo, “that unless your

servant has good brains she won’t know how to obey

you properly, nor do the things you ask her to

do.”

“Well, that may be true,” agreed Margolotte;

“but, on the contrary, a servant with too much

brains is sure to become independent and high-and-mighty and feel above her work. This is a

very delicate task, as I said, and I must take

care to give the girl just the right quantity of

the right sort of brains. I want her to know just

enough, but not too much.”

With this she went to another cupboard which was

filled With shelves. All the shelves were lined

With blue glass bottles, neatly labeled by the

Magician to show what they contained. One whole

shelf was marked: “Brain Furniture,” and the

bottles on this shelf were labeled as follows:

“Obedience,” “Cleverness,” “Judgment,” “Courage,”

“Ingenuity,” “Amiability,” “Learning,” “Truth,”

“Poesy,” “Self Reliance.”

“Let me see,” said Margolotte; “of those

qualities she must have ‘Obedience’ first of all,”

and she took down the bottle bearing that label

and poured from it upon a dish several grains of

the contents. “‘Amiability’ is also good and

‘Truth.’” She poured into the dish a quantity from

each of these bottles. “I think that will do,” she

continued, “for the other qualities are not needed

in a servant.”

Unc Nunkie, who with Ojo stood beside her,

touched the bottle marked “Cleverness.”

“Little,” said he.

“A little ‘Cleverness’? Well, perhaps you are

right, sir,” said she, and was about to take down

the bottle when the Crooked Magician suddenly

called to her excitedly from the fireplace.

“Quick, Margolotte! Come and help me.”

She ran to her husband’s side at once and

helped him lift the four kettles from the fire.

Their contents had all boiled away, leaving in

the bottom of each kettle a few grains of fine

white powder. Very carefully the Magician removed

this powder, placing it all together in a golden

dish, where he mixed it with a golden spoon. When

the mixture was complete there was scarcely a

handful, all told.

“That,” said Dr. Pipt, in a pleased and

triumphant tone, “is the wonderful Powder of Life,

which I alone in the world know how to make. It

has taken me nearly six years to prepare these

precious grains of dust, but the little heap on

that dish is worth the price of a kingdom and many

a king would give all he has to possess it. When

it has become cooled I will place it in a small

bottle; but meantime I must watch it carefully,

lest a gust of wind blow it away or scatter it.’

Unc Nunkie, Margolotte and the Magician

all stood looking at the marvelous Powder, but

Ojo was more interested just then in the Patchwork

Girl’s brains. Thinking it both unfair and unkind

to deprive her of any good qualities that were

handy, the boy took down every bottle on the shelf

and poured some of the contents in Margolotte’s

dish. No one saw him do this, for all were looking

at the Powder of Life; but soon the woman

remembered what she had been doing, and came back

to the cupboard.

“Let’s see,” she remarked; “I was about to give

my girl a little ‘Cleverness,’ which is the

Doctor’s substitute for ‘Intelligence’—a quality

he has not yet learned how to manufacture.” Taking

down the bottle of “Cleverness” she added some of

the powder to the heap on the dish. Ojo became a

bit uneasy at this, for he had already put quite

a lot of the “Cleverness” powder in the dish; but

he dared not interfere and so he comforted himself

with the thought that one cannot have too much

cleverness.

Margolotte now carried the dish of brains to

the bench. Ripping the seam of the patch on

the girl’s forehead, she placed the powder within

the head and then sewed up the seam as neatly

and securely as before.

“My girl is all ready for your Powder of Life,

my dear,” she said to her husband. But the

Magician replied:

“This powder must not be used before tomorrow

morning; but I think it is now cool enough to be

bottled.”

He selected a small gold bottle with a pepper-box top, so that the powder might be sprinkled on

any object through the small holes. Very carefully

he placed the Powder of Life in the gold bottle

and then locked it up in a drawer of his cabinet.

“At last,” said he, rubbing his hands together

gleefully, “I have ample leisure for a good talk

with my old friend Unc Nunkie. So let us sit

down cosily and enjoy ourselves. After stirring

those four kettles for six years I am glad to

have a little rest.”

“You will have to do most of the talking,”

said Ojo, “for Unc is called the Silent One and

uses few words.”

“I know; but that renders your uncle a

most agreeable companion and gossip,” declared

Dr. Pipt. “Most people talk too much, so it is

a relief to find one who talks too little.”

Ojo looked at the Magician with much awe

and curiosity.

“Don’t you find it very annoying to be so

crooked?” he asked.

“No; I am quite proud of my person,” was

the reply. “I suppose I am the only Crooked

Magician in all the world. Some others are accused

of being crooked, but I am the only genuine.”

He was really very crooked and Ojo wondered how

he managed to do so many things with such a

twisted body. When he sat down upon a crooked

chair that had been made to fit him, one knee was

under his chin and the other near the small of his

back; but he was a cheerful man and his face bore

a pleasant and agreeable expression.

“I am not allowed to perform magic, except

for my own amusement,” he told his visitors,

as he lighted a pipe with a crooked stem and

began to smoke. “Too many people were working

magic in the Land of Oz, and so our lovely

Princess Ozma put a stop to it. I think she was

quite right. There were several wicked Witches who

caused a lot of trouble; but now they are all out

of business and only the great Sorceress, Glinda

the Good, is permitted to practice her arts, which

never harm anybody. The Wizard of Oz, who used to

be a humbug and knew no magic at all, has been

taking lessons of Glinda, and I’m told he is

getting to be a pretty good Wizard; but he is

merely the assistant of the great Sorceress. I’ve

the right to make a servant girl for my wife, you

know, or a Glass Cat to catch our mice—which she

refuses to do—but I am forbidden to work magic for

others, or to use it as a profession.”

“Magic must be a very interesting study,”

said Ojo.

“It truly is,” asserted the Magician. “In my

time I’ve performed some magical feats that were

worthy of the skill of Glinda the Good. For

instance, there’s the Powder of Life, and my

Liquid of Petrifaction, which is contained in that

bottle on the shelf yonder-over the window.”

“What does the Liquid of Petrifaction do?”

inquired the boy.

“Turns everything it touches to solid marble.

It’s an invention of my own, and I find it very

useful. Once two of those dreadful Kalidahs,

with bodies like bears and heads like tigers,

came here from the forest to attack us; but I

sprinkled some of that Liquid on them and

instantly they turned to marble. I now use them

as ornamental statuary in my garden. This table

looks to you like wood, and once it really was

wood; but I sprinkled a few drops of the Liquid

of Petrifaction on it and now it is marble. It

will never break nor wear out.

“Fine!” said Unc Nunkie, wagging his head

and stroking his long gray beard.

“Dear me; what a chatterbox you’re getting

to be, Unc,” remarked the Magician, who was

pleased with the compliment. But just then

there came a scratching at the back door and a

shrill voice cried:

“Let me in! Hurry up, can’t you? Let me in!”

Margolotte got up and went to the door.

“Ask like a good cat, then,” she said.

“Meeee-ow-w-w! There; does that suit your

royal highness?” asked the voice, in scornful

accents.

“Yes; that’s proper cat talk,” declared the

woman, and opened the door. At once a cat entered,

came to the center of the room and stopped short

at the sight of strangers. Ojo and Unc Nunkie both

stared at it with wide open eyes, for surely no

such curious creature had ever existed before—

even in the Land of Oz.