Ev’ry maid
In silk arrayed
At her partner shyly glances,
Paws are grasped,
Waists are clasped
As they whirl in giddy dances.
Then together
Through the heather
‘Neath the moonlight soft they stroll;
Each is very
Blithe and merry,
Gamboling with laughter droll.
Life is fun
To ev’ry one
Guarded by our magic charm
For to dangers
We are strangers,
Safe from any thought of harm.”
“You see,” said Dorothy to the King, when the song ended, “the rabbits all seem to like Bunnybury except you. And I guess you’re the only one that ever has cried or was unhappy and wanted to get back to your muddy hole in the ground.”
His Majesty seemed thoughtful, and while the servants passed around glasses of nectar and plates of frosted cakes their King was silent and a bit nervous.
When the refreshments had been enjoyed by all and the servants had retired Dorothy said:
“I must go now, for it’s getting late and I’m lost. I’ve got to find the Wizard and Aunt Em and Uncle Henry and all the rest sometime before night comes, if I poss’bly can.”
“Won’t you stay with us?” asked the King. “You will be very welcome.”
“No, thank you,” she replied. “I must get back to my friends. And I want to see Glinda just as soon as I can, you know.”
So the King dismissed his court and said he would himself walk with Dorothy to the gate. He did not weep nor groan any more, but his long face was quite solemn and his big ears hung dejectedly on each side of it. He still wore his crown and his ermine and walked with a handsome gold-headed cane.
When they arrived at the room in the wall the little girl found Toto and Billina waiting for her very patiently. They had been liberally fed by some of the attendants and were in no hurry to leave such comfortable quarters.
The Keeper of the Wicket was by this time back in his old place, but he kept a safe distance from Toto. Dorothy bade good bye to the King as they stood just inside the wall.
“You’ve been good to me,” she said, “and I thank you ever so much. As soon as poss’ble I’ll see Glinda and ask her to put another King in your place and send you back into the wild forest. And I’ll ask her to let you keep some of your clothes and the lily chair and one or two jugglers to amuse you. I’m sure she will do it, ‘cause she’s so kind she doesn’t like any one to be unhappy.”
“Ahem!” said the King, looking rather downcast. “I don’t like to trouble you with my misery; so you needn’t see Glinda.”
“Oh, yes I will,” she replied. “It won’t be any trouble at all.”
“But, my dear,” continued the King, in an embarrassed way, “I’ve been thinking the subject over carefully, and I find there are a lot of pleasant things here in Bunnybury that I would miss if I went away. So perhaps I’d better stay.”
Dorothy laughed. Then she looked grave.
“It won’t do for you to be a King and a cry-baby at the same time,” she said. “You’ve been making all the other rabbits unhappy and discontented with your howls about being so miserable. So I guess it’s better to have another King.”
“Oh, no indeed!” exclaimed the King, earnestly. “If you won’t say anything to Glinda I’ll promise to be merry and gay all the time, and never cry or wail again.”
“Honor bright?” she asked.
“On the royal word of a King I promise it!” he answered.
“All right,” said Dorothy. “You’d be a reg’lar lunatic to want to leave Bunnybury for a wild life in the forest, and I’m sure any rabbit outside the city would be glad to take your place.”
“Forget it, my dear; forget all my foolishness,” pleaded the King, earnestly. “Hereafter I’ll try to enjoy myself and do my duty by my subjects.”
So then she left him and entered through the little door into the room in the wall, where she grew gradually bigger and bigger until she had resumed her natural size.
The Keeper of the Wicket let them out into the forest and told Dorothy that she had been of great service to Bunnybury because she had brought their dismal King to a realization of the pleasure of ruling so beautiful a city.
“I shall start a petition to have your statue erected beside Glinda’s in the public square,” said the Keeper. “I hope you will come again, some day, and see it.”
“Perhaps I shall,” she replied.
Then, followed by Toto and Billina, she walked away from the high marble wall and started back along the narrow path toward the signpost.
22. How the Wizard Found Dorothy
When they came to the signpost, there, to their joy, were the tents of the Wizard pitched beside the path and the kettle bubbling merrily over the fire. The Shaggy Man and Omby Amby were gathering firewood while Uncle Henry and Aunt Em sat in their camp chairs talking with the Wizard.
They all ran forward to greet Dorothy, as she approached, and Aunt Em exclaimed: “Goodness gracious, child! Where have you been?”
“You’ve played hookey the whole day,” added the Shaggy Man, reproachfully.
“Well, you see, I’ve been lost,” explained the little girl, “and I’ve tried awful hard to find the way back to you, but just couldn’t do it.”
“Did you wander in the forest all day?” asked Uncle Henry.
“You must be a’most starved!” said Aunt Em.
“No,” said Dorothy, “I’m not hungry. I had a wheelbarrow and a piano for breakfast, and lunched with a King.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the Wizard, nodding with a bright smile. “So you’ve been having adventures again.”
“She’s stark crazy!” cried Aunt Em. “Whoever heard of eating a wheelbarrow?”
“It wasn’t very big,” said Dorothy; “and it had a zuzu wheel.”
“And I ate the crumbs,” said Billina, soberly.
“Sit down and tell us about it,” begged the Wizard. “We’ve hunted for you all day, and at last I noticed your footsteps in this path—and the tracks of Billina. We found the path by accident, and seeing it only led to two places I decided you were at either one or the other of those places. So we made camp and waited for you to return. And now, Dorothy, tell us where you have been—to Bunbury or to Bunnybury?”
“Why, I’ve been to both,” she replied; “but first I went to Utensia, which isn’t on any path at all.”
She then sat down and related the day’s adventures, and you may be sure Aunt Em and Uncle Henry were much astonished at the story.
“But after seeing the Cuttenclips and the Fuddles,” remarked her uncle, “we ought not to wonder at anything in this strange country.”
“Seems like the only common and ordinary folks