The Collected Works of L. Frank Baum (Illustrated). L. Frank Baum

the Pumpkinhead, in a tone that expressed surprise, “you must be my creator my parent my father!”

      “Or your inventor,” replied the boy with a laugh. “Yes, my son; I really believe I am!”

      “Then I owe you obedience,” continued the man, “and you owe me—support.”

      “That’s it, exactly”, declared Tip, jumping up. “So let us be off.”

      “Where are we going?” asked Jack, when they had resumed their journey.

      “I’m not exactly sure,” said the boy; “but I believe we are headed South, and that will bring us, sooner or later, to the Emerald City.”

      “What city is that?” enquired the Pumpkinhead.

      “Why, it’s the center of the Land of Oz, and the biggest town in all the country. I’ve never been there, myself, but I’ve heard all about its history. It was built by a mighty and wonderful Wizard named Oz, and everything there is of a green color—just as everything in this Country of the Gillikins is of a purple color.”

      “Is everything here purple?” asked Jack.

      “Of course it is. Can’t you see?” returned the boy.

      “I believe I must be color-blind,” said the Pumpkinhead, after staring about him.

      “Well, the grass is purple, and the trees are purple, and the houses and fences are purple,” explained Tip. “Even the mud in the roads is purple. But in the Emerald City everything is green that is purple here. And in the Country of the Munchkins, over at the East, everything is blue; and in the South country of the Quadlings everything is red; and in the West country of the Winkies, where the Tin Woodman rules, everything is yellow.”

      “Oh!” said Jack. Then, after a pause, he asked: “Did you say a Tin Woodman rules the Winkies?”

      “Yes; he was one of those who helped Dorothy to destroy the Wicked Witch of the West, and the Winkies were so grateful that they invited him to become their ruler,—just as the people of the Emerald City invited the Scarecrow to rule them.”

      “Dear me!” said Jack. “I’m getting confused with all this history. Who is the Scarecrow?”

      “Another friend of Dorothy’s,” replied Tip.

      “And who is Dorothy?”

      “She was a girl that came here from Kansas, a place in the big, outside World. She got blown to the Land of Oz by a cyclone, and while she was here the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman accompanied her on her travels.”

      “And where is she now?” inquired the Pumpkinhead.

      “Glinda the Good, who rules the Quadlings, sent her home again,” said the boy.

      “Oh. And what became of the Scarecrow?”

      “I told you. He rules the Emerald City,” answered Tip.

      “I thought you said it was ruled by a wonderful Wizard,” objected Jack, seeming more and more confused.

      “Well, so I did. Now, pay attention, and I’ll explain it,” said Tip, speaking slowly and looking the smiling Pumpkinhead squarely in the eye. “Dorothy went to the Emerald City to ask the Wizard to send her back to Kansas; and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman went with her. But the Wizard couldn’t send her back, because he wasn’t so much of a Wizard as he might have been. And then they got angry at the Wizard, and threatened to expose him; so the Wizard made a big balloon and escaped in it, and no one has ever seen him since.”

      “Now, that is very interesting history,” said Jack, well pleased; “and I understand it perfectly all but the explanation.”

      “I’m glad you do,” responded Tip. “After the Wizard was gone, the people of the Emerald City made His Majesty, the Scarecrow, their King; and I have heard that he became a very popular ruler.”

      “Are we going to see this queer King?” asked Jack, with interest.

      “I think we may as well,” replied the boy; “unless you have something better to do.”

      “Oh, no, dear father,” said the Pumpkinhead. “I am quite willing to go wherever you please.”

      4. Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic

       Table of Contents

      The boy, small and rather delicate in appearance seemed somewhat embarrassed at being called “father” by the tall, awkward, pumpkinheaded man, but to deny the relationship would involve another long and tedious explanation; so he changed the subject by asking, abruptly:

      “Are you tired?”

      “Of course not!” replied the other. “But,” he continued, after a pause, “it is quite certain I shall wear out my wooden joints if I keep on walking.”

      Tip reflected, as they journeyed on, that this was true. He began to regret that he had not constructed the wooden limbs more carefully and substantially. Yet how could he ever have guessed that the man he had made merely to scare old Mombi with would be brought to life by means of a magical powder contained in an old pepperbox?

      So he ceased to reproach himself, and began to think how he might yet remedy the deficiencies of Jack’s weak joints.

      While thus engaged they came to the edge of a wood, and the boy sat down to rest upon an old sawhorse that some woodcutter had left there.

      “Why don’t you sit down?” he asked the Pumpkinhead.

      “Won’t it strain my joints?” inquired the other.

      “Of course not. It’ll rest them,” declared the boy.

      So Jack tried to sit down; but as soon as he bent his joints farther than usual they gave way altogether, and he came clattering to the ground with such a crash that Tip feared he was entirely ruined.

      He rushed to the man, lifted him to his feet, straightened his arms and legs, and felt of his head to see if by chance it had become cracked. But Jack seemed to be in pretty good shape, after all, and Tip said to him:

      “I guess you’d better remain standing, hereafter. It seems the safest way.”

      “Very well, dear father.” just as you say, replied the smiling Jack, who had been in no wise confused by his tumble.

      Tip sat down again. Presently the Pumpkinhead asked:

      “What is that thing you are sitting on?”

      “Oh, this is a horse,” replied the boy, carelessly.

      “What is a horse?” demanded Jack.

      “A horse? Why, there are two kinds of horses,” returned Tip, slightly puzzled how to explain. “One kind of horse is alive, and has four legs and a head and a tail. And people ride upon its back.”

      “I understand,” said Jack, cheerfully “That’s the kind of horse you are now sitting on.”

      “No, it isn’t,” answered Tip, promptly.

      “Why not? That one has four legs, and a head, and a tail.” Tip looked at the sawhorse more carefully, and found that the Pumpkinhead was right. The body had been formed from a treetrunk, and a branch had been left sticking up at one end that looked very much like a tail. In the other end were two big knots that resembled eyes, and a place had been chopped away that might easily be mistaken for the horse’s mouth. As for the legs, they were four straight limbs cut from trees and stuck fast into the body, being spread wide apart so that the sawhorse would stand firmly when a log was laid across it to be sawed.

      “This thing resembles a real horse more than I imagined,” said Tip, trying to explain. “But a real horse is alive, and trots and prances and eats oats, while