Kabumpo in Oz, Ruth Plumly Thompson [the snowy day read aloud TXT] 📗

cut off the burned part of your robe and make it more tidy,” said Peg, when she had finished beating the dust out of Kabumpo’s gorgeous blanket.

“There might be a pair in my pocket,” said the Elegant Elephant. “Here, let me get them,” he added hastily. “For suppose she should look into the Magic Mirror,” he thought suddenly. “It might tell her something terrible!”

Even in this short time Kabumpo had grown fond of queer wooden Peg and careless as he was somehow he did not want to hurt her feelings again. Sure enough, there was a pair of silver scissors in with the jewels he had tumbled into his pocket before leaving Pumperdink. So Peg carefully cut away all the scorched part of Kabumpo’s robe and pinned under the rough edges with three beautiful pearl pins.

“Now lift me up into that small tree and I’ll drop it over you, ‘ she laughed gaily. This Kabumpo did quite easily and after Peg Amy had smoothed and adjusted the robe, she crept out on the end of the branch and straightened the Elegant Elephant’s pearl head dress and brushed all the dust from his forehead with a handful of damp leaves.

“You’re a good girl, Peg,” said Kabumpo, sighing with contentment. “I don’t care whether you never were alive before or not, you’ve more sense than some people who’ve lived for centuries. I’m going to give that gnome something on my own account. Dared to shake you, did he? Well, wait till I get through shaking him!”

“It didn’t hurt,” said Peg reflectively, “but it ruined all my clothes. Do you think Prince Pompadore minds having me look so shabby?”

Kabumpo shifted about uneasily. “Will this help?” he asked sheepishly, pulling a lovely pearl necklace from his pocket. “Ozma doesn’t need everything,” he muttered to himself.

“Oh! How perfectly pomiferous!” cried Peg. “Lift me down so I can try it on.” In a trice Kabumpo swung her down from the tree and awkwardly Peg Amy clasped the chain about her wooden neck. Then she flung both arms round Kabumpo’s trunk. “You’re the biggest darling old elephant in Oz!” cried Peg happily.

Kabumpo blinked. He was accustomed to being called elegant and magnificent but no one-not even Pompa-had ever called him an old darling before and he found he liked it immensely.

While Peg ran to look at her reflection in a small pool he resolved to get the Wooden Doll a position at Court, for, in spite of her stiff fingers, Peg was very deft and clever. “And she shall have a purple plush dress too,” said Kabumpo grandly.

Just then Pompa and Wag returned in a high good humor. The Prince had tapped on the door of a small farm house and the little Winkie lady had been most hospitable. Not only had she given the Prince all he could eat, but she had allowed Wag to go into the garden and pick two dozen of her best cabbages. His size had greatly astonished her and she had insisted upon measuring him twice with her yellow tape measure but finally, without revealing the purpose of their journey, the two managed to get away. As all were now refreshed and rested, they decided to start on again.

“We ought to reach Ev by evening,” puffed Wag, between hops.

“But I wish we could open the Magic Box,” sighed Peg, holding on to Wag’s ear, “for in that box there’s Flying Fluid!”

“We’d make a remarkably nice lot of birds,” chuckled Kabumpo, looking over his shoulder, now wouldn’t we?”

“You would,” laughed Pompa. “What else was in the box, Peg?”

It was hard to talk while they were being jolted along, but Peg, being of wood, did not feel the bumps and Pompa, being a Prince, pretended not to, so that they continued their conversation in jerky sentences.

“There’s Vanishing Cream, a little tea kettle and some kind of rays and a Question Box,” said Peg, holding up her wooden hand. “A Question Box that answers any question you ask it.”

“There is!” exclaimed Kabumpo, stopping short. “Well, I wish we could ask it whether Pumperdink has disappeared.”

“And how to rescue Ozma, and who sent the scroll!” cried Pompa. “Oh, do let me try to open it, Peg!”

So Peg handed over Glegg’s Magic Box and as they pounded along the Prince tried to pry it open with his pearl pen knife. “It would save us such a lot of trouble,” he murmured, holding it up and screwing his eye to the keyhole.

“Better let it alone,” advised Wag, wiggling his ears nervously. “Suppose you should grow as big for you as I am for me. Suppose you should explode or vanish!”

“Vanish!” coughed Kabumpo. “Great Grump! Put it away, Pompa. Wait till we reach Ev and make that wicked little Ruggedo open it for us. Who is this Glegg, anyway?”

“A lawless magician, I guess,” said Wag, “or he wouldn’t have owned a box of Mixed Magic. Ozma doesn’t allow anyone to practice magic, you know.”

“Why, I’ll bet he was the person who sent the scroll!” exclaimed the Prince suddenly. “Don’t you remember, Kabumpo, it was signed J.G.?”

“Not a doubt in the world,” rumbled Kabumpo. “I’ll throw him up a tree when I catch him and Ruggedo, too!”

“Oh, please don’t,” begged Peg Amy. “Perhaps they are sorry.

“Not half as sorry as they will be,” wheezed Kabumpo, plowing ahead through the long grass like a big ferryboat under full steam.

Wag hopped close behind and Peg kept her eyes fixed upon Pompa’s back. In spite of his scorched head, he seemed to Peg the most delightful Prince imaginable.

“I’ll brush off his cloak and cut his hair all evenly,” thought Peg. “Then, perhaps Ozma will say yes when he tells her his story and asks for her hand. But I wonder what will become of me,” Peg sighed ever so softly and looked down with distaste at her wooden hands and torn old dress. Nothing very exciting could happen to a shabby Wooden Doll.

“Why, I haven’t even any right to be alive,” she reflected sadly. “I’m only meant to be funny. Well, never mind! Perhaps I can help Pompa and maybe that’s why I was brought to life.”

This thought, and the gleam of the lovely pearls Kabumpo had given her, so cheered Peg that she began to hum a queer, squeaky little song. The country was growing rougher and more hilly every minute. The sunny farmlands lay far behind them now and as Peg finished her song they came to the edge of a queer, dead-looking forest. The trees were dry and without leaves and there were quantities of stiff bushes and short stunted little trees standing under the taller ones.

Peg had an odd feeling that hundreds of eyes were staring out at them but the forest was so dim that she couldn’t be sure. There was not a sound but the crackling of the dead branches under Wag’s and Kabumpo’s feet.

“I don’t like this,” choked Wag. “My wocks and hoop soons! What a pleerful chase!”

“It isn’t very cheerful,” shivered Peg. “Oh, look, Wag! That big tree has eyes!” At Peg’s remark the tree doubled up its branches into fists and stepped right out in front of them. At the same instant all the other trees and bushes moved closer, with dry crackling steps.

“Now we have you!” snapped the tallest tree in a dreadful voice.

“Now we have you!” crackled all the other skitter-witchy creatures, crowding closer.

“Pigs, pigs, we’re the twigs; We’ll tweak your ears and snatch your wigs!”

they shouted all together. One taller than the rest leaned over and seized Wag by the ear with its twisted fingers.

“Help!” screamed Wag, kicking out with his hind legs. Immediately Kabumpo began laying about with his trunk.

“Stand back!” he trumpeted angrily, “or I’ll trample you to splinters.”

Pompa stood up on Kabumpo’s back and began to wave his sword threateningly. At this the ugly creatures grew simply furious. They snatched at the Prince with their long, claw-like branches, tearing at his sadly scorched hair and almost upsetting him.

“Stop! Stop!” cried Peg Amy, waving her wooden arms frantically. “Don’t hit him. He’s going to be married. Hit me, I’m only made of wood!”

“Don’t you dare hit her!” shrilled Pompa, slicing off the branch head of the nearest Twig. “I am a Prince and she is under my protection. Don’t touch her!”

By this time Kabumpo had cleared himself a space ahead and Wag a space behind. Every time Kabumpo’s trunk flew out, a dozen of the queer crackly Bushmen tumbled over forward and every time Wag’s heels flew out a dozen crumpled over backward. Pompa kept his sword whirling and, after several had lost top branches, the whole crowd fell back and began grumbling together.

“Now then!” puffed Kabumpo angrily, “let’s make a dash for it, Wag. Come on; we’ll smash them to kindling wood!”

“What’s all this commotion?” cried a loud voice. The Twigs fell back immediately and a bent and twisted old tree hobbled forward.

“Strangers, your Woodjesty,” whispered a tall Twig, waving a branch at Kabumpo.

“Well, have you pinched them?” asked the King in a bored voice.

“A little,” admitted the tall Twig nervously, “but they object to it, your Woodjesty.”

“Well, what if they do?” rasped the King tartly. “Don’t be gormish Faggots. You know I detest gormishness. It seems to me you might allow my people a little innocent diversion,” he grumbled, turning to Pompa, “they don’t get much pleasure!”

“Pleasure!” gasped the Prince, while Kabumpo and Wag were so astonished that they forgot to fight.

“What does he mean by gormish?” whispered Peg uneasily to Wag. Before he could answer, the Twigs, who evidently had decided not to be gormish, made a rush upon the travelers. But Kabumpo was ready for them with uplifted trunk. With a furious trumpet he charged straight into the middle, Wag at his heels, with the result that the Twigs went crackling and snapping to the ground in heaps.

“All we need is a match,” grunted Kabumpo, pounding along unmindful of the scratching and clawing. “They’re good for nothing but kindling wood.”

“Don’t be gormish,” he screeched scornfully, as he flung the last Twig out of his way and Wag and he never stopped till they had put a good mile between themselves and the disagreeable pinchers.

“Are you hurt?” asked Kabumpo, stopping at last and looking around at Pompa. “If we keep on this way you won’t be fit to be seen-much less to marry. Let’s have a look at you.” He lifted the Prince down carefully and eyed him with consternation. The Prince had seven long scratches on his cheek and his velvet cloak was torn to ribbons.

“I declare,” spluttered the Elegant Elephant explosively, “you’re a perfect fright. I declare, it’s a grumpy shame!”

“Well, don’t be gormish,” said the Prince, smiling faintly and wiping his cheek with his handkerchief.

“Let me help,” begged Peg Amy, falling off Wag’s back. “Ozma won’t mind a few scratches and what do clothes matter? Anyone would know he was a Prince,” she added, taking Pompa’s cloak and regarding it ruefully.

Pompa smiled at Peg’s earnestness and made her his best bow but Kabumpo still looked anxious. “Everyone’s not so smart as you, Peg,” he sighed gloomily. “But come along. The main thing is to rescue Ozma and after that perhaps she won’t notice your scratches and torn cloak. She’ll think you got them fighting the giant,” he finished more hopefully.

With a few more of Kabumpo’s jeweled pins Peg repaired Pompa’s cloak. Then, after tying up Wag’s ear, which was badly torn, they started off again.

“What worries me,” said Wag, twitching his nose very fast, “what worries me is crossing the Deadly Desert. We’re almost to it, you know.”

“Never cross deserts till