Chapter Seventeen

Ozma and Her Friends

The Shaggy Man had a room of his own in the royal

palace, so there he went to change his shaggy suit

of clothes for another just as shaggy but not so

dusty from travel. He selected a costume of

peagreen and pink satin and velvet, with

embroidered shags on all the edges and iridescent

pearls for ornaments. Then he bathed in an

alabaster pool and brushed his shaggy hair and

whiskers the wrong way to make them still more

shaggy. This accomplished, and arrayed in his

splendid shaggy garments, he went to Ozma’s

banquet hall and found the Scarecrow, the Wizard

and Dorothy already assembled there. The Scarecrow

had made a quick trip and returned to the Emerald

City with his left ear freshly painted.

A moment later, while they all stood in waiting,

a servant threw open a door, the orchestra struck

up a tune and Ozma of Oz entered.

Much has been told and written concerning the

beauty of person and character of this sweet girl

Ruler of the Land of Oz—the richest, the happiest

and most delightful fairyland of which we have any

knowledge. Yet with all her queenly qualities Ozma

was a real girl and enjoyed the things in life

that other real girls enjoy. When she sat on her

splendid emerald throne in the great Throne Room

of her palace and made laws and settled disputes

and tried to keep all her subjects happy and

contented, she was as dignified and demure as any

queen might be; but when she had thrown aside her

jeweled robe of state and her sceptre, and had

retired to her private apartments, the girl—

joyous, light-hearted and free—replaced the

sedate Ruler.

In the banquet hall to-night were gathered

only old and trusted friends, so here Ozma was

herself—a mere girl. She greeted Dorothy with

a kiss, the Shaggy Man with a smile, the little

old Wizard with a friendly handshake and then

she pressed the Scarecrow’s stuffed arm and

cried merrily:

“What a lovely left ear! Why, it’s a hundred

times better than the old one.”

“I’m glad you like it,” replied the Scarecrow,

well pleased. “Jinjur did a neat job, didn’t she?

And my hearing is now perfect. Isn’t it wonderful

what a little paint will do, if it’s properly

applied?”

“It really is wonderful,” she agreed, as they

all took their seats; “but the Sawhorse must

have his legs twinkle to have carried you so far

in one day. I didn’t expect you back before

tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“Well,” said the Scarecrow, “I met a charming

girl on the road and wanted to see more of her, so

I hurried back.”

Ozma laughed.

“I know,” she returned; “it’s the Patchwork

Girl. She is certainly bewildering, if not strictly

beautiful.”

“Have you seen her, then?” the straw man eagerly

asked.

“Only in my Magic Picture, which shows me all

scenes of interest in the Land of Oz.”

“I fear the picture didn’t do her justice,” said

the Scarecrow.

“It seemed to me that nothing could be more

gorgeous,” declared Ozma. “Whoever made that

patchwork quilt, from which Scraps was formed,

must have selected the gayest and brightest bits

of cloth that ever were woven.

“I am glad you like her,” said the Scarecrow

in a satisfied tone. Although the straw man did

not eat, not being made so he could, he often

dined with Ozma and her companions, merely

for the pleasure of talking with them. He sat at

the table and had a napkin and plate, but the

servants knew better than to offer him food.

After a little while he asked: “Where is the

Patchwork Girl now?”

“In my room,” replied Dorothy. “I’ve taken a

fancy to her; she’s so queer and-and-uncommon.”

“She’s half crazy, I think,” added the Shaggy

Man.

“But she is so beautiful!” exclaimed the

Scarecrow, as if that fact disarmed all criticism.

They all laughed at his enthusiasm, but the

Scarecrow was quite serious. Seeing that he was

interested in Scraps they forbore to say anything

against her. The little band of friends Ozma had

gathered around her was so quaintly assorted that

much care must be exercised to avoid hurting their

feelings or making any one of them unhappy. It was

this considerate kindness that held them close

friends and enabled them to enjoy one another’s

society.

Another thing they avoided was conversing

on unpleasant subjects, and for that reason Ojo

and his troubles were not mentioned during the

dinner. The Shaggy Man, however, related his

adventures with the monstrous plants which

had seized and enfolded the travelers, and told

how he had robbed Chiss, the giant porcupine,

of the quills which it was accustomed to throw

at people. Both Dorothy and Ozma were pleased

with this exploit and thought it served Chiss

right.

Then they talked of the Woozy, which was the

most remarkable animal any of them had ever before

seen—except, perhaps, the live Sawhorse. Ozma had

never known that her dominions contained such a

thing as a Woozy, there being but one in existence

and this being confined in his forest for many

years. Dorothy said she believed the Woozy was a

good beast, honest and faithful; hut she added

that she did not care much for the Glass Cat.

“Still,” said the Shaggy Man, “the Glass Cat

is very pretty and if she were not so conceited

over her pink brains no one would object to her

as a companion.

The Wizard had been eating silently until

now, when he looked up and remarked:

“That Powder of Life which is made by the

Crooked Magician is really a wonderful thing.

But Dr. Pipt does not know its true value and

he uses it in the most foolish ways.”

“I must see about that,” said Ozma, gravely.

Then she smiled again and continued in a

lighter tone: “It was Dr. Pipt’s famous Powder

of Life that enabled me to become the Ruler

of Oz.”

“I’ve never heard that story,” said the Shaggy

Man, looking at Ozma questioningly.

“Well, when I was a baby girl I was stolen by an

old Witch named Mombi and transformed into a boy,”

began the girl Ruler. “I did not know who I was

and when I grew big enough to work, the Witch made

me wait upon her and carry wood for the fire and

hoe in the garden. One day she came back from a

journey bringing some of the Powder of Life, which

Dr. Pipt had given her. I had made a pumpkin-headed man and set it up in her path to frighten

her, for I was fond of fun and hated the Witch.

But she knew what the figure was and to test her

Powder of Life she sprinkled some of it on the man

I had made. It came to life and is now our dear

friend Jack Pumpkinhead. That night I ran away

with Jack to escape punishment, and I took old

Mombi’s Powder of Life with me. During our journey

we came upon a wooden Sawhorse standing by the

road and I used the magic powder to bring it to

life. The Sawhorse has been with me ever since.

When I got to the Emerald City the good Sorceress,

Glinda, knew who I was and restored me to my

proper person, when I became the rightful Ruler of

this land. So you see had not old Mombi brought

home the Powder of Life I might never have run

away from her and become Ozma of Oz, nor would we

have had Jack Pumpkinhead and the Sawhorse to

comfort and amuse us.”

That story interested the Shaggy Man very much,

as well as the others, who had often heard it

before. The dinner being now concluded, they all

went to Ozma’s drawing-room, where they passed a

pleasant evening before it came time to retire.