“Is that the extent of your wisdom?” asked Scraps.
“No,” replied the donkey; “I know many other things, but they wouldn’t interest you. So I’ll give you a last word of advice: move on, for the sooner you do that the sooner you’ll get to the Emerald City of Oz.”
“Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot-ti-too!” screeched the owl;
“Off you go! fast or slow,
Where you’re going you don’t know.
Patches, Bungle, Munchkin lad,
Facing fortunes good and bad,
Meeting dangers grave and sad,
Sometimes worried, sometimes glad—
Where you’re going you don’t know,
Nor do I, but off you go!”
“Sounds like a hint, to me,” said the Patchwork Girl.
“Then let’s take it and go,” replied Ojo.
They said goodbye to the Wise Donkey and the Foolish Owl and at once resumed their journey.
9. They Meet the Woozy
“There seem to be very few houses around here, after all,” remarked Ojo, after they had walked for a time in silence.
“Never mind,” said Scraps; “we are not looking for houses, but rather the road of yellow bricks. Won’t it be funny to run across something yellow in this dismal blue country?”
“There are worse colors than yellow in this country,” asserted the Glass Cat, in a spiteful tone.
“Oh; do you mean the pink pebbles you call your brains, and your red heart and green eyes?” asked the Patchwork Girl.
“No; I mean you, if you must know it,” growled the cat.
“You’re jealous!” laughed Scraps. “You’d give your whiskers for a lovely variegated complexion like mine.”
“I wouldn’t!” retorted the cat. “I’ve the clearest complexion in the world, and I don’t employ a beauty-doctor, either.”
“I see you don’t,” said Scraps.
“Please don’t quarrel,” begged Ojo. “This is an important journey, and quarreling makes me discouraged. To be brave, one must be cheerful, so I hope you will be as good-tempered as possible.”
They had traveled some distance when suddenly they faced a high fence which barred any further progress straight ahead. It ran directly across the road and enclosed a small forest of tall trees, set close together. When the group of adventurers peered through the bars of the fence they thought this forest looked more gloomy and forbidding than any they had ever seen before.
They soon discovered that the path they had been following now made a bend and passed around the enclosure, but what made Ojo stop and look thoughtful was a sign painted on the fence which read:
“BEWARE OF THE WOOZY!”
“That means,” he said, “that there’s a Woozy inside that fence, and the Woozy must be a dangerous animal or they wouldn’t tell people to beware of it.”
“Let’s keep out, then,” replied Scraps. “That path is outside the fence, and Mr. Woozy may have all his little forest to himself, for all we care.”
“But one of our errands is to find a Woozy,” Ojo explained. “The Magician wants me to get three hairs from the end of a Woozy’s tail.”
“Let’s go on and find some other Woozy,” suggested the cat. “This one is ugly and dangerous, or they wouldn’t cage him up. Maybe we shall find another that is tame and gentle.”
“Perhaps there isn’t any other, at all,” answered Ojo. “The sign doesn’t say: ‘Beware a Woozy’; it says: ‘Beware the Woozy,’ which may mean there’s only one in all the Land of Oz.”
“Then,” said Scraps, “suppose we go in and find him? Very likely if we ask him politely to let us pull three hairs out of the tip of his tail he won’t hurt us.”
“It would hurt him, I’m sure, and that would make him cross,” said the cat.
“You needn’t worry, Bungle,” remarked the Patchwork Girl; “for if there is danger you can climb a tree. Ojo and I are not afraid; are we, Ojo?”
“I am, a little,” the boy admitted; “but this danger must be faced, if we intend to save poor Unc Nunkie. How shall we get over the fence?”
“Climb,” answered Scraps, and at once she began climbing up the rows of bars. Ojo followed and found it more easy than he had expected. When they got to the top of the fence they began to get down on the other side and soon were in the forest. The Glass Cat, being small, crept between the lower bars and joined them.
Here there was no path of any sort, so they entered the woods, the boy leading the way, and wandered through the trees until they were nearly in the center of the forest. They now came upon a clear space in which stood a rocky cave.
So far they had met no living creature, but when Ojo saw the cave he knew it must be the den of the Woozy.
It is hard to face any savage beast without a sinking of the heart, but still more terrifying is it to face an unknown beast, which you have never seen even a picture of. So there is little wonder that the pulses of the Munchkin boy beat fast as he and his companions stood facing the cave. The opening was perfectly square, and about big enough to admit a goat.
“I guess the Woozy is asleep,” said Scraps. “Shall I throw in a stone, to waken him?”
“No; please don’t,” answered Ojo, his voice trembling a little. “I’m in no hurry.”
But he had not long to wait, for the Woozy heard the sound of voices and came trotting out of his cave. As this is the only Woozy that has ever lived, either in the Land of Oz or out of it, I must describe it to you.
The creature was all squares and flat surfaces and edges. Its head was an exact square, like one of the building-blocks a child plays with; therefore it had no ears, but heard sounds through two openings in the upper corners. Its nose, being in the center of a square surface, was flat, while the mouth was formed by the opening of the lower edge of the block. The body of the Woozy was much larger than its head, but was likewise block-shaped—being twice as long as it was wide and high. The tail was square and stubby and perfectly straight, and the four legs were made in the same way, each being four-sided. The animal was covered with a thick, smooth skin and had no hair at all except at the extreme end of its tail, where there grew exactly three stiff, stubby hairs. The beast was dark blue in color and his face was not fierce nor ferocious in expression, but rather good-humored and droll.
Seeing the strangers, the Woozy folded his hind legs as if they had been hinged and sat down to look his visitors over.
“Well, well,” he exclaimed; “what a queer lot you are! At first I thought some of those miserable Munchkin farmers had come to annoy me, but I am relieved to find you in their stead. It is plain to me that you are a remarkable group—as remarkable in your way as I am in mine—and so you are welcome to my domain. Nice place, isn’t it? But lonesome—dreadfully lonesome.”
“Why did they shut you up here?” asked Scraps, who was regarding the queer, square creature with much curiosity.
“Because I eat up all the honey-bees which the Munchkin farmers who live around here keep to make them honey.”
“Are you fond of eating honey-bees?” inquired the boy.
“Very.