Chapter Four

The Glass Cat

The cat was made of glass, so clear and

transparent that you could see through it as

easily as through a window. In the top of its

head, however, Was a mass of delicate pink balls

which looked like jewels, and it had a heart made

of a blood-red ruby. The eyes were two large

emeralds, but aside from these colors all the rest

of the animal was clear glass, and it had a spun-glass tail that was really beautiful.

“Well, Doc Pipt, do you mean to introduce us, or

not?” demanded the cat, in a tone of annoyance.

“Seems to me you are forgetting your manners.”

“Excuse me,” returned the Magician. “This

is Unc Nunkie, the descendant of the former

kings of the Munchkins, before this country be

came a part of the Land of Oz.”

“He needs a haircut,” observed the cat,

washing its face.

“True,” replied Unc, with a low chuckle of

amusement.

“But he has lived alone in the heart of the

forest for many years,” the Magician explained;

“and, although that is a barbarous country,

there are no barbers there.”

“Who is the dwarf?” asked the cat.

“That is not a dwarf, but a boy,” answered

the Magician. “You have never seen a boy before.

He is now small because he is young. With more

years he will grow big and become as tall as Unc

Nunkie.”

“Oh. Is that magic?” the glass animal inquired.

“Yes; but it is Nature’s magic, which is more

wonderful than any art known to man. For

instance, my magic made you, and made you

live; and it was a poor job because you are

useless and a bother to me; but I can’t make you

grow. You will always be the same size—and

the same saucy, inconsiderate Glass Cat, with

pink brains and a hard ruby heart.”

“No one can regret more than I the fact that you

made me,” asserted the cat, crouching upon the

floor and slowly swaying its spun-glass tail from

side to side. “Your world is a very uninteresting

place. I’ve wandered through your gardens and in

the forest until I’m tired of it all, and when I

come into the house the conversation of your fat

wife and of yourself bores me dreadfully.”

“That is because I gave you different brains

from those we ourselves possess—and much too

good for a cat,” returned Dr. Pipt.

“Can’t you take ‘em out, then, and replace

em with pebbles, so that I won’t feel above my

station in life?” asked the cat, pleadingly.

“Perhaps so. I’ll try it, after I’ve brought the

Patchwork Girl to life,” he said.

The cat walked up to the bench on which

the Patchwork Girl reclined and looked at her

attentively.

“Are you going to make that dreadful thing

live?” she asked.

The Magician nodded.

“It is intended to be my wife’s servant maid,”

he said. “When she is alive she will do all our

work and mind the house. But you are not to

order her around, Bungle, as you do us. You

must treat the Patchwork Girl respectfully.”

“I won’t. I couldn’t respect such a bundle

of scraps under any circumstances.”

“If you don’t, there will be more scraps than

you will like,” cried Margolotte, angrily.

“Why didn’t you make her pretty to look at?”

asked the cat. “You made me pretty—very pretty,

indeed—and I love to watch my pink brains roll

around when they’re working, and to see my

precious red heart beat.” She went to a long

mirror, as she said this, and stood before it,

looking at herself with an air of much pride.

“But that poor patched thing will hate herself,

when she’s once alive,” continued the cat. “If

I were you I’d use her for a mop, and make

another servant that is prettier.”

“You have a perverted taste,” snapped

Margolotte, much annoyed at this frank criticism.

“I think the Patchwork Girl is beautiful,

considering what she’s made of. Even the rainbow

hasn’t as many colors, and you must admit that the

rainbow is a pretty thing.”

The Glass Cat yawned and stretched herself

upon the floor.

“Have your own way,” she said. “I’m sorry

for the Patchwork Girl, that’s all.”

Ojo and Unc Nunkie slept that night in the

Magician’s house, and the boy was glad to stay

because he was anxious to see the Patchwork

Girl brought to life. The Glass Cat was also a

wonderful creature to little Ojo, who had never

seen or known anything of magic before, although

he had lived in the Fairyland of Oz ever since he

was born. Back there in the woods nothing unusual

ever happened. Unc Nunkie, who might have been

King of the Munchkins, had not his people united

with all the other countries of Oz in

acknowledging Ozma as their Sole ruler, had

retired into this forgotten forest nook with his

baby nephew and they had lived all alone there.

Only that the neglected garden had failed to grow

food for them, they would always have lived in the

solitary Blue Forest; but now they had started out

to mingle with other people, and the first place

they came to proved so interesting that Ojo could

scarcely sleep a wink all night.

Margolotte was an excellent cook and gave

them a fine breakfast. While they were all engaged

in eating, the good woman said:

“This is the last meal I shall have to cook

for some time, for right after breakfast Dr. Pipt

has promised to bring my new servant to life.

I shall let her wash the breakfast dishes and

sweep and dust the house. What a relief it

will be!”

“It will, indeed, relieve you of much drudgery,”

said the Magician. “By the way, Margolotte, I

thought I saw you getting some brains from the

cupboard, while I was busy with my kettles. What

qualities have you given your new servant?”

“Only those that an humble servant requires,”

she answered. “I do not wish her to feel above

her station, as the Glass Cat does. That would

make her discontented and unhappy, for of

course she must always be a servant.”

Ojo was somewhat disturbed as he listened to

this, and the boy began to fear he had done wrong

in adding all those different qualities of brains

to the lot Margolotte had prepared for the

servant. But it was too late now for regret, since

all the brains were securely sewn up inside the

Patchwork Girl’s head. He might have confessed

what he had done and thus allowed Margolotte and

her husband to change the brains; but he was

afraid of incurring their anger. He believed that

Unc had seen him add to the brains, and Unc had

not said a word against it; but then, Unc never

did say anything unless it was absolutely

necessary.

As soon as breakfast was over they all went

into the Magician’s big workshop, where the

Glass Cat was lying before the mirror and the

Patchwork Girl lay limp and lifeless upon the

bench.

“Now, then,” said Dr. Pipt, in a brisk tone,

“we shall perform one of the greatest feats of

magic possible to man, even in this marvelous

Land of Oz. In no other country could it be

done at all. I think we ought to have a little

music while the Patchwork Girl comes to life.

It is pleasant to reflect that the first sounds her

golden ears will hear will be delicious music.

As he spoke he went to a phonograph, which

screwed fast to a small table, and wound up

the spring of the instrument and adjusted the

big gold horn.

“The music my servant will usually hear,”

remarked Margolotte, “will be my orders to do

her work. But I see no harm in allowing her to

listen to this unseen band while she wakens to

her first realization of life. My orders will beat

the band, afterward.”

The phonograph was now playing a stirring

march tune and the Magician unlocked his

cabinet and took out the gold bottle containing

the Powder of Life.

They all bent over the bench on which the

Patchwork Girl reclined. Unc Nunkie and Margolotte

stood behind, near the windows, Ojo at one side

and the Magician in front, where he would have

freedom to sprinkle the powder. The Glass Cat came

near, too, curious to watch the important scene.

“All ready?” asked Dr. Pipt.

“All is ready,” answered his wife.

So the Magician leaned over and shook from

the bottle some grains of the wonderful Powder,

and they fell directly on the Patchwork Girl’s

head and arms.