Kabumpo in Oz, Ruth Plumly Thompson [the snowy day read aloud TXT] 📗
- Author: Ruth Plumly Thompson
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“Hurrah for the giant killer!” giggled Scraps, turning a somersault and nearly falling in the fire.
“Let’s go to bed!” said Dorothy uneasily. She had for the last few minutes been hearing strange rumbles. Of course it could not be giants; still the conversation, she concluded, had better be finished by sunlight.
But it never was, for at that moment there was a deafening crash. The lights went out; the whole castle shivered; furniture fell every which way. Down clattered Sir Hokus, falling with a terrible clangor on top of the Copper Man. Down rolled the little girls and the Scarecrow and Scraps. Down tumbled everybody.
“Cyclone!” gasped Dorothy, who had experienced several in Kansas.
“Giants!” stuttered Betsy Bobbin, clutching Trot.
The Wizard of Oz tried to reassure the agitated company. He told them there was no cause for alarm, and that they would soon find out what was the trouble. The soothing words of the Wizard were scarcely heard.
What the others said was lost in the noise that followed. Thumps-bangs-rashes-screams came from every room in the rocking palace.
“We’re flying! The whole castle’s flying up in the air!” screamed Dorothy. Then she subsided, as an emerald clock and three pictures came thumping down on her head.
What had happened? No one could say. Dorothy, Betsy Bobbin and Trot had fainted dead away. The Scarecrow and Sir Hokus were tangled up on the floor, clasped in each other’s arms.
The confusion was terrific. Only the Wizard was still calm and smiling.
The Soldier with the Green Whiskers finished his breakfast slowly, combed his beard, pinned on all of his medals and solemnly issued forth from his little house at the garden gates.
“Forward march!” snapped the soldier. He had to give himself orders, being the only man, general or private in the army. And forward march he did. It was his custom to report to Ozma every morning to receive his orders for the day. When he had gone through the little patch of trees that separated his cottage from the palace, the Soldier with the Green Whiskers gave a great leap.
“Halt! Break ranks!” roared the Grand Army of Oz, clutching his beard in terror. “Great Goulashes!” He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yes, the gorgeous emerald-studded palace had disappeared, leaving not so much as a gold brick to tell where it had stood. Trembling in every knee, the Grand Army of Oz approached. A great black hole, the exact shape of the palace, yawned at his feet. He took one look down that awful cavity, then shot through the palace gardens like a green comet.
Like Paul Revere he had gone to give the alarm, and Paul Revere himself never made better time. He thumped on windows and banged on doors and dashed through the sleeping city like a whirlwind. In five minutes there was not a man, woman or child who did not know of the terrible calamity. They rushed to the palace gardens in a panic. Some stared up in the air; others peered down the dark hole; still others ran about wildly trying to discover some trace of the missing castle.
“What shall we do?” they wailed dismally. For to have their lovely little Queen and the Wizard and all the most important people in Oz disappear at once was simply terrifying. They were a gentle and kindly folk, used to obeying orders, and now there was no one to tell them what to do.
At last Unk Nunkie, an old Munchkin who had taken up residence in the Emerald City, pushed through the crowd. Unk was a man of few words, but a wise old chap for all that, so they made way for him respectfully. First Unk Nunkie stroked his beard; then pointing with his long lean finger toward the south he snapped out one word-“GLINDA!”
Of course! They must tell Glinda. Why had they not thought of it themselves? Glinda would know just what to do and how to do it. Three cheers for Unk Nunkie! Glinda, you know, is the good Sorceress of Oz, who knows more magic than anyone in the Kingdom, but who only practices it for the people’s good. Indeed, Glinda and the Wizard of Oz are the only ones permitted to practice magic, for so much harm had come of it that Ozma made a law forbidding sorcery in all of its branches. But even in a fairy country people do not always obey the laws and everyone felt that magic was at the bottom of this disaster.
So away to fetch Glinda dashed the Grand Army, his green whiskers streaming behind him. Fortunately the royal stables had not disappeared with the palace, so the gallant army. sprang upon the back of the Saw Horse, and without stopping to explain to the other royal beasts, bade it carry him to Glinda as fast as it could gallop. Being made of wood with gold shod feet and magically brought to life, the Saw Horse can run faster than any animal in Oz. It never tired or needed food and when it understood that the palace and its dear little Mistress had disappeared it fairly flew; for the Saw Horse loved Ozma with all its saw dust and was devoted as only a wooden beast can be.
In an hour they had reached Glinda’s shining marble palace in the southern part of the Quadling country, and as soon as the lovely Sorceress had heard the soldier’s story, she hurried to the magic Book of Records. This is the most valuable book in Oz and it is kept padlocked with many golden chains to a gold table, for in this great volume appear all the events happening in and out of the world.
Now, Glinda had been so occupied trying to discover the cause of frowns that she had not referred to the book for several days and naturally there were many pages to go over. There were hundreds of entries concerning automobile accidents in the United States and elsewhere. These Glinda passed over hurriedly, till she came to three sentences printed in red, for Oz news always appeared in the book in red letters. The first sentence did not seem important. It merely stated that the Prince of Pumperdink was journeying toward the Emerald City. The other two entries seemed serious.
“Glegg’s box of Mixed Magic has been discovered,” said the second, and “Ruggedo has something on his mind,” stated the third. Glinda pored over the book for a long time to see whether any more information would be given but not another red sentence appeared. With a sigh, Glinda turned to the Soldier with the Green Whiskers.
“The old Gnome King must be mixed up in this,” she said anxiously, “and as he was last seen in the Emerald City, I will return with you at once.” So Glinda and the Soldier with the Green Whiskers flew back to the Emerald City drawn in Glinda’s chariot by swift flying swans and the little Saw Horse trotted back by himself. When they reached the gardens a great crowd had gathered by the Fountain of Oblivion and a tall green grocer was speaking excitedly.
“What is it?” asked Glinda, shuddering as she passed the dreadful hole where Ozma’s lovely palace had once stood. Everyone started explaining at once so that Glinda was obliged to clap her hands for silence.
“Foot print!” Unk Nunkie stood upon his tip toes and whispered it in Glinda’s ear and when she looked where Unk pointed she saw a huge, shallow cave-in that crushed the flower beds for as far as she could see.
“Foot print!” gasped Glinda in amazement.
“Uh huh!” Unk Nunkie wagged his head determinedly and then, pulling his hat down over his eyes, spoke his last word on the subject: “GIANT!”
“A giant foot print! Why so it is!” cried Glinda.
“What shall we do?” cried the frightened inhabitants of the Emerald City, wringing their hands.
“First, find Ruggedo,” ordered Glinda, suddenly remembering the mysterious entry in the Book of Records. So, away to the little cottage hurried the crowd. They searched it from cellar to garret, but of course found no trace of the wicked little gnome. As no one knew about the secret passage in Ruggedo’s cellar, they never thought of searching underground.
Meanwhile Glinda sank down on one of the golden garden benches and tried to think. The Comfortable Camel stumbled broken-heartedly across the lawn and dropping on its knees begged the Sorceress in a tearful voice to save Sir Hokus of Pokes. The Camel and the Doubtful Dromedary had been discovered by the Knight on his last adventure and were deeply attached to him. Soon all the palace pets came and stood in a dejected row before Glinda-Betsy’s mule, Hank, hee-hawing dismally and the Hungry Tiger threatening to eat everyone in sight if any harm came to the three little girls.
“I doubt if we’ll ever see them again,” groaned the Doubtful Dromedary, leaning up against a tree.
“Oh Doubty -how can you?” wailed the Camel, tears streaming down its nose.
“Please do be quiet,” begged Glinda, “or I’ll forget all the magic I know. Let me see, now-how does one catch a marauding giant who has run off with a castle?”
On her fingers Glinda counted up all the giants in the four countries of Oz. No! It could not be an Oz giant; there was none large enough. It must be a giant from some strange country.
When the crowd returned with the news that Ruggedo had disappeared Glinda felt more uneasy still. But hiding her anxiety she bade the people return to their homes and continue their work and play as usual. Then, promising to return that evening with a plan to save the castle, and charging the Soldier with the Green Whiskers to keep a strict watch in the garden, Glinda stepped into her chariot and flew back to the South. All that day, in her palace in the Quadling country, Glinda bent over her encyclopedia on giants, and far into the night the lights burned from her high turret-chamber, as she consulted book after book of magic.
The Book of Records had been perfectly correct in stating that Ruggedo had something on his mind. He had! To understand the mysterious disappearance of Ozma’s palace, we must go back to the old Ex-King of the Gnomes. The whole of the night after he had found Glegg’s box of Mixed Magic, Ruggedo had spent trying to open the box. But pry and poke as he would it stubbornly refused to give up its secrets.
“Better come to bed,” advised Wag, twitching his nose nervously. “Mixed Magic isn’t safe, you know. It might explode.”
“Idiot!” grumbled Ruggedo. “I don’t know who Glegg is or was, but I’m going to open this box if it takes me a century.”
“All right,” quavered Wag, retiring backward and holding up his paw. “All right, but remember I warned you! Don’t meddle with magic, that’s my motto!”
“I don’t care a harebell what your motto is,” sneered the gnome, continuing to hammer on the gold lid.
When he reached his room, Wag shut the door and sank dejectedly upon the edge of the bed.
“There’s no manner of use trying to stop him,” sighed the rabbit, “so I’ve got to get out of here before he gets me into trouble. I’ll go tomorrow!” resolved Wag, pulling his long ear nervously. With this good resolution, the little rabbit drooped off asleep.
Very cautiously he opened the door of his little rockroom next morning. Ruggedo was sound asleep on the floor, his head
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