FANTASTICAL ADVENTURES – L. Frank Baum Edition (Childhood Essentials Library). Лаймен Фрэнк Баум

is, indeed,” replied Tip, gravely. “These pills may be of great use to us. I wonder if old Mombi knew they were in the bottom of the pepperbox. I remember hearing her say that she got the Powder of Life from this same Nikidik.”

      “He must be a powerful Sorcerer!” exclaimed the Tin Woodman; “and since the powder proved a success we ought to have confidence in the pills.”

      “But how,” asked the Scarecrow, “can anyone count seventeen by twos? Seventeen is an odd number.”

      “That is true,” replied Tip, greatly disappointed. “No one can possibly count seventeen by twos.”

      “Then the pills are of no use to us,” wailed the Pumpkinhead; “and this fact overwhelms me with grief. For I had intended wishing that my head would never spoil.”

      “Nonsense!” said the Scarecrow, sharply. “If we could use the pills at all we would make far better wishes than that.”

      “I do not see how anything could be better,” protested poor Jack. “If you were liable to spoil at any time you could understand my anxiety.”

      “For my part,” said the Tin Woodman, “I sympathize with you in every respect. But since we cannot count seventeen by twos, sympathy is all you are liable to get.”

      By this time it had become quite dark, and the voyagers found above them a cloudy sky, through which the rays of the moon could not penetrate.

      The Gump flew steadily on, and for some reason the huge sofa-body rocked more and more dizzily every hour.

      The WoggleBug declared he was seasick; and Tip was also pale and somewhat distressed. But the others clung to the backs of the sofas and did not seem to mind the motion as long as they were not tipped out.

      Darker and darker grew the night, and on and on sped the Gump through the black heavens. The travelers could not even see one another, and an oppressive silence settled down upon them.

      After a long time Tip, who had been thinking deeply, spoke.

      “How are we to know when we come to the pallace of Glinda the Good?” he asked.

      “It’s a long way to Glinda’s palace,” answered the Woodman; “I’ve traveled it.”

      “But how are we to know how fast the Gump is flying?” persisted the boy. “We cannot see a single thing down on the earth, and before morning we may be far beyond the place we want to reach.”

      “That is all true enough,” the Scarecrow replied, a little uneasily. “But I do not see how we can stop just now; for we might alight in a river, or on, the top of a steeple; and that would be a great disaster.”

      So they permitted the Gump to fly on, with regular flops of its great wings, and waited patiently for morning.

      Then Tip’s fears were proven to be well founded; for with the first streaks of gray dawn they looked over the sides of the sofas and discovered rolling plains dotted with queer villages, where the houses, instead of being domeshaped—as they all are in the Land of Oz—had slanting roofs that rose to a peak in the center. Odd looking animals were also moving about upon the open plains, and the country was unfamiliar to both the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow, who had formerly visited Glinda the Good’s domain and knew it well.

      “We are lost!” said the Scarecrow, dolefully. “The Gump must have carried us entirely out of the Land of Oz and over the sandy deserts and into the terrible outside world that Dorothy told us about.”

      “We must get back,” exclaimed the Tin Woodman, earnestly. “we must get back as soon as possible!”

      “Turn around!” cried Tip to the Gump. “turn as quickly as you can!”

      “If I do I shall upset,” answered the Gump. “I’m not at all used to flying, and the best plan would be for me to alight in some place, and then I can turn around and take a fresh start.”

      Just then, however, there seemed to be no stopping-place that would answer their purpose. They flew over a village so big that the WoggleBug declared it was a city, and then they came to a range of high mountains with many deep gorges and steep cliffs showing plainly.

      “Now is our chance to stop,” said the boy, finding they were very close to the mountain tops. Then he turned to the Gump and commanded: “Stop at the first level place you see!”

      “Very well,” answered the Gump, and settled down upon a table of rock that stood between two cliffs.

      But not being experienced in such matters, the Gump did not judge his speed correctly; and instead of coming to a stop upon the flat rock he missed it by half the width of his body, breaking off both his right wings against the sharp edge of the rock and then tumbling over and over down the cliff.

      Our friends held on to the sofas as long as they could, but when the Gump caught on a projecting rock the Thing stopped suddenly—bottom side up—and all were immediately dumped out.

      By good fortune they fell only a few feet; for underneath them was a monster nest, built by a colony of Jackdaws in a hollow ledge of rock; so none of them—not even the Pumpkinhead—was injured by the fall. For Jack found his precious head resting on the soft breast of the Scarecrow, which made an excellent cushion; and Tip fell on a mass of leaves and papers, which saved him from injury. The WoggleBug had bumped his round head against the SawHorse, but without causing him more than a moment’s inconvenience.

      The Tin Woodman was at first much alarmed; but finding he had escaped without even a scratch upon his beautiful nickle-plate he at once regained his accustomed cheerfulness and turned to address his comrades.

      “Our Journey had ended rather suddenly,” said he; “and we cannot justly blame our friend the Gump for our accident, because he did the best he could under the circumstances. But how we are ever to escape from this nest I must leave to someone with better brains than I possess.”

      Here he gazed at the Scarecrow; who crawled to the edge of the nest and looked over. Below them was a sheer precipice several hundred feet in depth. Above them was a smooth cliff unbroken save by the point of rock where the wrecked body of the Gump still hung suspended from the end of one of the sofas. There really seemed to be no means of escape, and as they realized their helpless plight the little band of adventurers gave way to their bewilderment.

      “This is a worse prison than the palace,” sadly remarked the WoggleBug.

      “I wish we had stayed there,” moaned Jack.

      “I’m afraid the mountain air isn’t good for pumpkins.”

      “It won’t be when the Jackdaws come back,” growled the SawHorse, which lay waving its legs in a vain endeavor to get upon its feet again. “Jackdaws are especially fond of pumpkins.”

      “Do you think the birds will come here?” asked Jack, much distressed.

      “Of course they will,” said Tip; “for this is their nest. And there must be hundreds of them,” he continued, “for see what a lot of things they have brought here!”

      Indeed, the nest was half filled with a most curious collection of small articles for which the birds could have no use, but which the thieving Jackdaws had stolen during many years from the homes of men. And as the nest was safely hidden where no human being could reach it, this lost property would never be recovered.

      The WoggleBug, searching among the rubbish—for the Jackdaws stole useless things as well as valuable ones—turned up with his foot a beautiful diamond necklace. This was so greatly admired by the Tin Woodman that the WoggleBug presented it to him with a graceful speech, after which the Woodman hung it around his neck with much pride, rejoicing exceedingly when the big diamonds glittered in the sun’s rays.

      But now they heard a great jabbering and flopping of wings, and as the sound grew nearer to them Tip exclaimed:

      “The Jackdaws are coming! And if they find us here they will surely kill us in their anger.”