“It’s the same with me, Tollydiggle,” laughed the soldier. “But my task is finished and I must go and report to Ozma that I’ve done my duty like a faithful Police Force, a loyal Army and an honest BodyGuard—as I hope I am.”
Saying this, he nodded farewell to Tollydiggle and Ojo and went away.
“Now, then,” said the woman briskly, “I must get you some supper, for you are doubtless hungry. What would you prefer: planked whitefish, omelet with jelly or mutton-chops with gravy?”
Ojo thought about it. Then he said: “I’ll take the chops, if you please.”
“Very well; amuse yourself while I’m gone; I won’t be long,” and then she went out by a door and left the prisoner alone.
Ojo was much astonished, for not only was this unlike any prison he had ever heard of, but he was being treated more as a guest than a criminal. There were many windows and they had no locks. There were three doors to the room and none were bolted. He cautiously opened one of the doors and found it led into a hallway. But he had no intention of trying to escape. If his jailor was willing to trust him in this way he would not betray her trust, and moreover a hot supper was being prepared for him and his prison was very pleasant and comfortable. So he took a book from the case and sat down in a big chair to look at the pictures.
This amused him until the woman came in with a large tray and spread a cloth on one of the tables. Then she arranged his supper, which proved the most varied and delicious meal Ojo had ever eaten in his life.
Tollydiggle sat near him while he ate, sewing on some fancy work she held in her lap. When he had finished she cleared the table and then read to him a story from one of the books.
“Is this really a prison?” he asked, when she had finished reading.
“Indeed it is,” she replied. “It is the only prison in the Land of Oz.”
“And am I a prisoner?”
“Bless the child! Of course.”
“Then why is the prison so fine, and why are you so kind to me?” he earnestly asked.
Tollydiggle seemed surprised by the question, but she presently answered:
“We consider a prisoner unfortunate. He is unfortunate in two ways—because he has done something wrong and because he is deprived of his liberty. Therefore we should treat him kindly, because of his misfortune, for otherwise he would become hard and bitter and would not be sorry he had done wrong. Ozma thinks that one who has committed a fault did so because he was not strong and brave; therefore she puts him in prison to make him strong and brave. When that is accomplished he is no longer a prisoner, but a good and loyal citizen and everyone is glad that he is now strong enough to resist doing wrong. You see, it is kindness that makes one strong and brave; and so we are kind to our prisoners.”
Ojo thought this over very carefully. “I had an idea,” said he, “that prisoners were always treated harshly, to punish them.”
“That would be dreadful!” cried Tollydiggle. “Isn’t one punished enough in knowing he has done wrong? Don’t you wish, Ojo, with all your heart, that you had not been disobedient and broken a Law of Oz?”
“I—I hate to be different from other people,” he admitted.
“Yes; one likes to be respected as highly as his neighbors are,” said the woman. “When you are tried and found guilty, you will be obliged to make amends, in some way. I don’t know just what Ozma will do to you, because this is the first time one of us has broken a Law; but you may be sure she will be just and merciful. Here in the Emerald City people are too happy and contented ever to do wrong; but perhaps you came from some faraway corner of our land, and having no love for Ozma carelessly broke one of her Laws.”
“Yes,” said Ojo, “I’ve lived all my life in the heart of a lonely forest, where I saw no one but dear Unc Nunkie.”
“I thought so,” said Tollydiggle. “But now we have talked enough, so let us play a game until bedtime.”
16. Princess Dorothy
Dorothy Gale was sitting in one of her rooms in the royal palace, while curled up at her feet was a little black dog with a shaggy coat and very bright eyes. She wore a plain white frock, without any jewels or other ornaments except an emerald-green hair-ribbon, for Dorothy was a simple little girl and had not been in the least spoiled by the magnificence surrounding her. Once the child had lived on the Kansas prairies, but she seemed marked for adventure, for she had made several trips to the Land of Oz before she came to live there for good. Her very best friend was the beautiful Ozma of Oz, who loved Dorothy so well that she kept her in her own palace, so as to be near her. The girl’s Uncle Henry and Aunt Em—the only relatives she had in the world—had also been brought here by Ozma and given a pleasant home. Dorothy knew almost everybody in Oz, and it was she who had discovered the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion, as well as Tik-Tok the Clockwork Man. Her life was very pleasant now, and although she had been made a Princess of Oz by her friend Ozma she did not care much to be a Princess and remained as sweet as when she had been plain Dorothy Gale of Kansas.
Dorothy was reading in a book this evening when Jellia Jamb, the favorite servant-maid of the palace, came to say that the Shaggy Man wanted to see her.
“All right,” said Dorothy; “tell him to come right up.”
“But he has some queer creatures with him—some of the queerest I’ve ever laid eyes on,” reported Jellia.
“Never mind; let ‘em all come up,” replied Dorothy.
But when the door opened to admit not only the Shaggy Man, but Scraps, the Woozy and the Glass Cat, Dorothy jumped up and looked at her strange visitors in amazement. The Patchwork Girl was the most curious of all and Dorothy was uncertain at first whether Scraps was really alive or only a dream or a nightmare. Toto, her dog, slowly uncurled himself and going to the Patchwork Girl sniffed at her inquiringly; but soon he lay down again, as if to say he had no interest in such an irregular creation.
“You’re a new one to me,” Dorothy said reflectively, addressing the Patchwork Girl. “I can’t imagine where you’ve come from.”
“Who, me?” asked Scraps, looking around the pretty room instead of at the girl. “Oh, I came from a bedquilt, I guess. That’s what they say, anyhow. Some call it a crazy-quilt and some a patchwork quilt. But my name is Scraps—and now you know all about me.”
“Not quite all,” returned Dorothy with a smile. “I wish you’d tell me how you came to be alive.”
“That’s an easy job,” said Scraps, sitting upon a big upholstered chair and making the springs bounce her up and down. “Margolotte wanted a slave, so she made me out of an old bedquilt she didn’t use. Cotton stuffing, suspender-button eyes, red velvet tongue, pearl beads for teeth. The Crooked Magician made a Powder of Life, sprinkled me with it and—here I am. Perhaps you’ve noticed my different colors. A very refined and educated gentleman named the Scarecrow, whom I met, told me I am the most beautiful creature in all Oz, and I believe it.”
“Oh! Have you met our Scarecrow, then?” asked Dorothy, a little puzzled to understand the brief history related.
“Yes; isn’t he jolly?”
“The Scarecrow has many good qualities,” replied Dorothy. “But I’m sorry to hear all this ‘bout the Crooked Magician. Ozma’ll be mad as hops when she hears he’s been doing magic again. She told him not to.”
“He only practices magic for the benefit of his own family,” explained Bungle, who was keeping at a respectful distance from the little black dog.
“Dear