Ozma's Odd Home-Coming
While the dummy King and his friends were making their way to the Emerald City from the North, Ozma and her faithful followers were plodding wearily up from the South through a lonely section of the Quadling Country. The red house in the hunting park had been totally deserted but the Scarecrow, climbing an old wind-mill nearby, had seen dimly through the tree-tops the glittering spires of the capital. Considerably cheered therefore, the little party had continued its journey home.
At about the time Kabumpo was making his grand entry into the city, Scraps, turning to ask Sir Hokus a question, noticed that the Knight was fidgeting about in an extremely odd and alarming manner. They were a bit ahead of the others and for a time Scraps regarded her companion with her head on one side. But silence is not one of the Patch Work Girl's strong points and as the Knight continued to squirm and bounce, she stopped short in the road.
"Why do you jump from side to side and rattle about like a salt shaker? Have you fleas?" inquired Scraps, looking sharply at Sir Hokus. "Is there an ant in your armor, or what?"
"Something—something's tickling me," confessed the Knight, wriggling his shoulders desperately. "Something like—like a sparrow. Ouch!" gasped Sir Hokus, giving himself a shake that unfastened the top buckle of his mailed shirt.
At Sir Hokus' cry, Scraps, too, gave a startled shriek, for out of the Knight's shirt sped the golden goose feather he had tucked there for safe-keeping. Before either of them had recovered from their surprise it poised in the air and began to write furiously on the Knight's burnished shield, while Scraps and Sir Hokus watched breathlessly.
"The King of Oz is in the palace," announced the feather with a flourish, then fluttered down lifelessly in the dust.
"Odds blood! It thinks I'm a blackboard," grunted Sir Hokus indignantly, and nearly bending double to get a glimpse of the writing. "Ozma, Betsy, Trot, Wizard, come quickly!"
At the excited cries, the others, who were just around a bend in the road, broke into a run. Sir Hokus, puffing and still indignant, pointed to his shield. The second message of the magic quill was as amazing as the first, which had sent them to Morrow.
"Well, that saves us hunting for him," observed the Scarecrow, cheerfully picking up the goose quill. "He must have found himself, you know. Shall I keep this my dear?"
"Please do," sighed Ozma, staring hard at the message, which the Knight was vainly trying to rub from his shield, "and let's hurry. Just think, my father is in the castle! Hurry! Hurry! We're almost home!" And setting an example herself, the little fairy girl fairly flew down the road.
"I for one shall not recognize this King," shouted Scraps, running awkwardly after Ozma.
"I wonder whether he'll let us live in the castle?" puffed Trot, who was running hand in hand with Betsy Bobbin. "I kinda wish he'd never turned up, don't you?"
Betsy nodded emphatically, and it must be confessed that all of the others shared Trot's wish. But as Ozma herself seemed so happy at her father's restoration, such thoughts seemed almost treasonable and no one but Scraps voiced his real opinion.
Ozma, being a fairy, did not tire as easily as the rest, but even Ozma had to slacken her pace before they came to the Emerald City. Indeed, it was a hard two-hour journey before they reached the outskirts of the capital. Hot, tired and dusty, they hurried through the quiet streets. No one in the city had discovered Ozma's absence, for the searchers in the palace had gone off without notifying anyone, so they stared in surprise at the breathless little company. Without stopping to explain, the royal party hurried on to the palace itself, for was not the King already there and waiting for them?
Sir Hokus was the first to burst through the tall hedge enclosing the royal residence. He paused, brushed his mailed fist across his eyes and then fell with a crash to the jewelled walk. The Scarecrow, close behind, promptly fell on top of him and Scraps, the Wizard and the little girls, bumping into the two, stopped short in their tracks. For where the castle had stood, there was nothing at all excepting a stretch of lawn, a little greener, perhaps, than in other parts of the garden, but so smooth, no one would have suspected that a castle ever had stood there!
"The King is in the castle, but where is the castle?" groaned the Scarecrow, raising his head and peering over the Knight's shoulder.
"Gone!" wailed the little Queen, rushing forward in dismay. "Everything's gone!" And overcome by the fatigues and disappointments of the day, Ozma threw herself down upon the grass and wept as if her heart would break. Betsy and Trot did their best to comfort her, but what could they say? What could anyone say in the face of so amazing a calamity?
"Come out you villain King and thief!
Bring back our home, you robber Chief!"
screamed Scraps, making little dashes backward and forward. Of course Scraps did not expect the King to come out but, as if in answer to her call, there was a shudder and rumble below.
The rumbling continued, grew worse and worse and finally, with an explosion like forty-nine roman candles going off at once, the towers, turrets and gleaming roof of the castle burst through the earth and, impaling the frightened company upon its spires, carried them kicking and struggling into the air. Up, up, and up shot the castle, till the entire structure was standing on its proper foundations. The flag pole had caught Sir Hokus between his mailed shirt and his armor and the Knight was spinning around like a weather cock in a gale. Ozma and the little girls had fortunately been carried aloft on one of the rounded domes and while their position was extremely precarious it was at least comfortable. Scraps hung limply over a filigreed balcony, the Wizard beside her, and the Scarecrow dangled from a spire.
"Wait! Don't move any of you," coughed the straw man. "Wait, I'll fall down and get a ladder!"
And down he plunged!
