“Not at all,” answered the Scarecrow, “for Glinda the Good is a mighty Sorceress, and nothing that goes on in the Land of Oz escapes her notice. I suppose she knows why we came as well as we do ourselves.”
“Then what was the use of our coming?” asked Jack, stupidly.
“To prove you are a Pumpkinhead!” retorted the Scarecrow. “But, if the Sorceress expects us, we must not keep her waiting.”
So they all clambered out of the sofas and followed the Captain toward the palace—even the SawHorse taking his place in the queer procession.
Upon her throne of finely wrought gold sat Glinda, and she could scarcely repress a smile as her peculiar visitors entered and bowed before her. Both the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman she knew and liked; but the awkward Pumpkinhead and Highly Magnified WoggleBug were creatures she had never seen before, and they seemed even more curious than the others. As for the SawHorse, he looked to be nothing more than an animated chunk of wood; and he bowed so stiffly that his head bumped against the floor, causing a ripple of laughter among the soldiers, in which Glinda frankly joined.
“I beg to announce to your glorious highness,” began the Scarecrow, in a solemn voice, “that my Emerald City has been overrun by a crowd of impudent girls with knitting-needles, who have enslaved all the men, robbed the streets and public buildings of all their emerald jewels, and usurped my throne.”
“I know it,” said Glinda.
“They also threatened to destroy me, as well as all the good friends and allies you see before you,” continued the Scarecrow. “and had we not managed to escape their clutches our days would long since have ended.”
“I know it,” repeated Glinda.
“Therefore I have come to beg your assistance,” resumed the Scarecrow, “for I believe you are always glad to succor the unfortunate and oppressed.”
“That is true,” replied the Sorceress, slowly. “But the Emerald City is now ruled by General Jinjur, who has caused herself to be proclaimed Queen. What right have I to oppose her?”
“Why, she stole the throne from me,” said the Scarecrow.
“And how came you to possess the throne?” asked Glinda.
“I got it from the Wizard of Oz, and by the choice of the people,” returned the Scarecrow, uneasy at such questioning.
“And where did the Wizard get it?” she continued gravely.
“I am told he took it from Pastoria, the former King,” said the Scarecrow, becoming confused under the intent look of the Sorceress.
“Then,” declared Glinda, “the throne of the Emerald City belongs neither to you nor to Jinjur, but to this Pastoria from whom the Wizard usurped it.”
“That is true,” acknowledged the Scarecrow, humbly; “but Pastoria is now dead and gone, and some one must rule in his place.”
“Pastoria had a daughter, who is the rightful heir to the throne of the Emerald City. Did you know that?” questioned the Sorceress.
“No,” replied the Scarecrow. “But if the girl still lives I will not stand in her way. It will satisfy me as well to have Jinjur turned out, as an impostor, as to regain the throne myself. In fact, it isn’t much fun to be King, especially if one has good brains. I have known for some time that I am fitted to occupy a far more exalted position. But where is the girl who owns the throne, and what is her name?”
“Her name is Ozma,” answered Glinda. “But where she is I have tried in vain to discover. For the Wizard of Oz, when he stole the throne from Ozma’s father, hid the girl in some secret place; and by means of a magical trick with which I am not familiar he also managed to prevent her being discovered—even by so experienced a Sorceress as myself.”
“That is strange,” interrupted the WoggleBug, pompously. “I have been informed that the Wonderful Wizard of Oz was nothing more than a humbug!”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Scarecrow, much provoked by this speech. “Didn’t he give me a wonderful set of brains?”
“There’s no humbug about my heart,” announced the Tin Woodman, glaring indignantly at the WoggleBug.
“Perhaps I was misinformed,” stammered the Insect, shrinking back; “I never knew the Wizard personally.”
“Well, we did,” retorted the Scarecrow, “and he was a very great Wizard, I assure you. It is true he was guilty of some slight impostures, but unless he was a great Wizard how—let me ask—could he have hidden this girl Ozma so securely that no one can find her?”
“I—I give it up!” replied the WoggleBug, meekly.
“That is the most sensible speech you’ve made,” said the Tin Woodman.
“I must really make another effort to discover where this girl is hidden,” resumed the Sorceress, thoughtfully. “I have in my library a book in which is inscribed every action of the Wizard while he was in our land of Oz—or, at least, every action that could be observed by my spies. This book I will read carefully tonight, and try to single out the acts that may guide us in discovering the lost Ozma. In the meantime, pray amuse yourselves in my palace and command my servants as if they were your own. I will grant you another audience tomorrow.”
With this gracious speech Glinda dismissed the adventurers, and they wandered away through the beautiful gardens, where they passed several hours enjoying all the delightful things with which the Queen of the Southland had surrounded her royal palace.
On the following morning they again appeared before Glinda, who said to them:
“I have searched carefully through the records of the Wizard’s actions, and among them I can find but three that appear to have been suspicious. He ate beans with a knife, made three secret visits to old Mombi, and limped slightly on his left foot.”
“Ah! that last is certainly suspicious!” exclaimed the Pumpkinhead.
“Not necessarily,” said the Scarecrow. “he may, have had corns. Now, it seems to me his eating beans with a knife is more suspicious.”
“Perhaps it is a polite custom in Omaha, from which great country the Wizard originally came,” suggested the Tin Woodman.
“It may be,” admitted the Scarecrow.
“But why,” asked Glinda, “did he make three secret visits to old Mombi?”
“Ah! Why, indeed!” echoed the WoggleBug, impressively.
“We know that the Wizard taught the old woman many of his tricks of magic,” continued Glinda; “and this he would not have done had she not assisted him in some way. So we may suspect with good reason that Mombi aided him to hide the girl Ozma, who was the real heir to the throne of the Emerald City, and a constant danger to the usurper. For, if the people knew that she lived, they would quickly make her their Queen and restore her to her rightful position.”
“An able argument!” cried the Scarecrow. “I have no doubt that Mombi was mixed up in this wicked business. But how does that knowledge help us?”
“We must find Mombi,” replied Glinda, “and force her to tell where the girl is hidden.”
“Mombi is now with Queen Jinjur, in the Emerald, City” said Tip. “It was she who threw so many obstacles in our pathway, and made Jinjur threaten to destroy my friends and give me back into the old witch’s power.”
“Then,” decided Glinda, “I will march with my army to the Emerald City, and take Mombi prisoner. After that we can, perhaps, force her to tell the truth about Ozma.”
“She is a terrible old woman!” remarked Tip, with a shudder at the thought of Mombi’s black kettle; “and obstinate, too.”
“I am quite obstinate myself,”