The Marvelous Land of Oz
“And then I can tell whether that crooked wizard has fairly traded
secrets, or whether he has fooled me as wickedly as I fooled him.”
So she set down her basket and began fumbling in it for one of the
precious powders she had obtained.
While Mombi was thus occupied Tip strolled back, with his pockets full
of nuts, and discovered the old woman standing beside his man and
apparently not the least bit frightened by it.
At first he was generally disappointed; but the next moment he became
curious to know what Mombi was going to do. So he hid behind a hedge,
where he could see without being seen, and prepared to watch.
After some search the woman drew from her basket an old pepper-box,
upon the faded label of which the wizard had written with a
lead-pencil:
“Powder of Life.”
“Ah—here it is!” she cried, joyfully. “And now let us see if it is
potent. The stingy wizard didn’t give me much of it, but I guess
there’s enough for two or three doses.”
Tip was much surprised when he overheard this speech. Then he saw old
Mombi raise her arm and sprinkle the powder from the box over the
pumpkin head of his man Jack. She did this in the same way one would
pepper a baked potato, and the powder sifted down from Jack’s head and
scattered over the red shirt and pink waistcoat and purple trousers Tip
had dressed him in, and a portion even fell upon the patched and worn
shoes.
Then, putting the pepper-box back into the basket, Mombi lifted her
left hand, with its little finger pointed upward, and said:
“Weaugh!”
Then she lifted her right hand, with the thumb pointed upward, and
said:
“Teaugh!”
Then she lifted both hands, with all the fingers and thumbs spread out,
and cried:
“Peaugh!”
Jack Pumpkinhead stepped back a pace, at this, and said in a
reproachful voice:
“Don’t yell like that! Do you think I’m deaf?”
Old Mombi danced around him, frantic with delight.
“He lives!” she screamed: “He lives! he lives!”
Then she threw her stick into the air and caught it as it came down;
and she hugged herself with both arms, and tried to do a step of a jig;
and all the time she repeated, rapturously:
“He lives!—he lives!—he lives!”
Now you may well suppose that Tip observed all this with amazement.
At first he was so frightened and horrified that he wanted to run away,
but his legs trembled and shook so badly that he couldn’t. Then it
struck him as a very funny thing for Jack to come to life, especially
as the expression on his pumpkin face was so droll and comical it
excited laughter on the instant. So, recovering from his first fear,
Tip began to laugh; and the merry peals reached old Mombi’s ears and
made her hobble quickly to the hedge, where she seized Tip’s collar and
dragged him back to where she had left her basket and the pumpkinheaded
man.
“You naughty, sneaking, wicked boy!” she exclaimed, furiously: “I’ll
teach you to spy out my secrets and to make fun of me!”
“I wasn’t making fun of you,” protested Tip. “I was laughing at old
Pumpkinhead! Look at him! Isn’t he a picture, though?”
“I hope you are not reflecting on my personal appearance,” said Jack;
and it was so funny to hear his grave voice, while his face continued
to wear its jolly smile, that Tip again burst into a peal of laughter.
Even Mombi was not without a curious interest in the man her magic had
brought to life; for, after staring at him intently, she presently
asked:
“What do you know?”
“Well, that is hard to tell,” replied Jack. “For although I feel that I
know a tremendous lot, I am not yet aware how much there is in the
world to find out about. It will take me a little time to discover
whether I am very wise or very foolish.”
“To be sure,” said Mombi, thoughtfully.
“But what are you going to do with him, now he is alive?” asked Tip,
wondering.
“I must think it over,” answered Mombi. “But we must get home at once,
for it is growing dark. Help the Pumpkinhead to walk.”
“Never mind me,” said Jack; “I can walk as well as you can. Haven’t I
got legs and feet, and aren’t they jointed?”
“Are they?” asked the woman, turning to Tip.
“Of course they are; I made ’em myself,” returned the boy, with pride.
So they started for the house, but when they reached the farm yard old
Mombi led the pumpkin man to the cow stable and shut him up in an empty
stall, fastening the door securely on the outside.
“I’ve got to attend to you, first,” she said, nodding her head at Tip.
Hearing this, the boy became uneasy; for he knew Mombi had a bad and
revengeful heart, and would not hesitate to do any evil thing.
They entered the house. It was a round, domeshaped structure, as are
nearly all the farm houses in the Land of Oz.
Mombi bade the boy light a candle, while she put her basket in a
cupboard and hung her cloak on a peg. Tip obeyed quickly, for he was
afraid of her.
After the candle had been lighted Mombi ordered him to build a fire in
the hearth, and while Tip was thus engaged the old woman ate her
supper. When the flames began to crackle the boy came to her and asked
a share of the bread and cheese; but Mombi refused him.
“I’m hungry!” said Tip, in a sulky tone.
“You won’t be hungry long,” replied Mombi, with a grim look.
The boy didn’t like this speech, for it sounded like a threat; but he
happened to remember he had nuts in his pocket, so he cracked some of
those and ate them while the woman rose, shook the crumbs from her
apron, and hung above the fire a small black kettle.
Then she measured out equal parts of milk and vinegar and poured them
into the kettle. Next she produced several packets of herbs and powders
and began adding a portion of each to the contents of the kettle.
Occasionally she would draw near the candle and read from a yellow
paper the recipe of the mess she was concocting.
As Tip watched her his uneasiness increased.
“What is that for?” he asked.
“For you,” returned Mombi, briefly.
Tip wriggled around upon his stool and stared awhile at the kettle,
which was beginning to bubble. Then he would glance at the stern and
wrinkled features of the witch and wish he were any place but in that
dim and smoky kitchen, where even the shadows cast by the candle upon
the wall were enough to give one the horrors. So an hour passed away,
during which the silence was only broken by the bubbling of the pot and
the hissing of the flames.
Finally, Tip spoke again.
“Have I got to drink that stuff?” he asked, nodding toward the pot.
“Yes,” said Mombi.
“What’ll it do to me?” asked Tip.
“If it’s properly made,” replied Mombi, “it will change or transform
you into a marble statue.”
Tip groaned, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his
sleeve.
“I don’t want to be a marble statue!” he protested.
“That doesn’t matter I want you to be one,” said the old woman, looking
at him severely.
“What use’ll I be then?” asked Tip. “There won’t be any one to work for
you.”
“I’ll make the Pumpkinhead work for me,” said Mombi.
Again Tip groaned.
“Why don’t you change me into a goat, or a chicken?” he asked,
anxiously. “You can’t do anything with a marble statue.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” returned Mombi. “I’m going to plant a flower garden,
next Spring, and I’ll put you in the middle of it, for an ornament. I
wonder I haven’t thought of that before; you’ve been a bother to me for
years.”
At this terrible speech Tip felt the beads of perspiration starting all
over his body, but he sat still and shivered and looked anxiously at
the kettle.
“Perhaps it won’t work,” he mutttered, in a voice that sounded weak and
discouraged.
“Oh, I think it will,” answered Mombi, cheerfully. “I seldom make a
mistake.”
Again there was a period of silence a silence so long and gloomy that
when Mombi finally lifted the kettle from the fire it was close to
midnight.
“You cannot drink it until it has become quite cold,” announced the old
witch for in spite of the law she had acknowledged practising
witchcraft. “We must both go to bed now, and at daybreak I will call
you and at once complete your transformation into a marble statue.”
With this she hobbled into her room, bearing the steaming kettle with
her, and Tip heard her close and lock the door.
The boy did not go to bed, as he had been commanded to do, but still
sat glaring at the embers of the dying fire.
The Flight of the Fugitives
Tip reflected.
“It’s a hard thing, to be a marble statue,” he thought, rebelliously,
“and I’m not going to stand it. For years I’ve been a bother to her,
she says; so she’s going to get rid of me. Well, there’s an easier way
than to become a statue. No boy could have any fun forever standing in
the middle of a flower garden! I’ll run away, that’s what I’ll do—and I
may as well go before she makes me drink that nasty stuff in the
kettle.” He waited until the snores of the old witch announced she was
fast asleep, and then he arose softly and went to the cupboard to find
something to eat.
“No use starting on a journey without food,” he decided, searching upon
the narrow shelves.
He found some crusts of bread; but he had to look into Mombi’s basket
to find the cheese she had brought from the village. While turning over
the contents of the basket he came upon the pepper-box which contained
the “Powder of Life.”
“I may as well take this with me,” he thought, “or Mombi’ll be using it
to make more mischief with.” So he put the box in his pocket, together
with the bread and cheese.
Then he cautiously left the house and latched the door behind him.
Outside both moon and stars shone brightly, and the night seemed
peaceful and inviting after the close and ill-smelling kitchen.
“I’ll be glad to get away,” said Tip, softly; “for I never did like
that old woman. I wonder how I ever came to live with her.”
He was walking slowly toward the road when a thought made him pause.
“I don’t like to leave Jack Pumpkinhead to the tender mercies of old
Mombi,” he muttered. “And Jack belongs to me, for I made him even if
the old witch did bring him to life.”
He retraced his steps to the cow-stable and opened the door of the
stall where the pumpkin-headed man had been left.
Jack was standing in the middle of the stall, and by the moonlight Tip
could see he was smiling just as jovially as ever.
“Come on!” said the boy, beckoning.
“Where to?” asked Jack.
“You’ll know as soon as I do,” answered Tip, smiling sympathetically
into the pumpkin face.
“All we’ve got to do now is to tramp.”
“Very well,” returned Jack, and walked awkwardly out of the stable and
into the moonlight.
Tip turned toward the road and the man followed him. Jack walked with a
sort of limp, and occasionally one of the joints of his legs would turn
backward, instead of frontwise, almost causing him to tumble. But the
Pumpkinhead was quick to notice this, and began to take more pains to
step carefully; so that he met with few accidents.
Tip led him along the path without stopping an instant. They could not
go very fast, but they walked steadily; and by the time the moon sank
away and the sun peeped over the hills they had travelled so great a
distance that the boy had no reason to fear pursuit from the old witch.
Moreover, he had turned first into one path, and then into another, so
that should anyone follow them it would prove very difficult to guess
which way they had gone, or where to seek them.
Fairly satisfied that he had escaped—for a time, at least—being turned
into a marble statue, the boy stopped his companion and seated himself
upon a rock by the roadside.
“Let’s have some breakfast,” he said.