Baum, L Frank Oz 21 Gnome King of Oz

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redoubling his efforts with the soap bar, pushed their raft toward the opposite bank.
"I'm afraid we've wasted a lot of time," puffed Peter, as the raft slid in toward the beach.
"Never mind," grinned Scraps, "we've something new to talk about. I'm glad we met the Suds,
Peter."
"Humph!" sniffed Grumpy, balancing himself carefully. "I'm glad they met us. Now they'll have
something new to talk about, something worth while." Peter chuckled a little at this and, seizing Scrap's
hands, helped her to rise, for little waves were rippling aboard and he did not want the Patchwork Girl to
fade or shrink. But without any accidents or spills the raft washed up on the beach and they all jumped
off.
"Do you think you still know which direction to take?" asked Peter anxiously.
"Which direction to take, which direction to take, I lost my direction out there in the lake!
We'll have to start on and just trust to good luck; What kind of a desert is this we have struck?"
Throwing up her arms, Scraps looked around in dismay.
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"A wilderness!" quavered the little bear, sitting down resignedly on a tree stump. Shading his
eyes, Peter stared off in the distance. As far as he could see, there was nothing but a barren stretch of
desert, with here and there a tree or jagged rock.
"Let's start toward that tall pine," suggested Peter, pulling his cap down hard over his left eye
and waving toward a pine tree just visible on the sky line. "If we keep walking we're bound to come out
somewhere, but I'm afraid we'll never catch up with Ruggedo now.
"Maybe he's lost, too," said Grumpy, ambling along beside Scraps on all fours.
"Yes, but he has a magic cloak to help him," sighed Peter, "and all we have is an emerald we
don't know how to work."
"Which tree are we walking toward?" asked Scraps, blinking her suspender button eyes
rapidly. "I don't see any pine tree now, Peter."
"Neither do I," growled Grumpy, rising up on his hind legs, and neither did Peter when he
looked again. As he strained his eyes for a glimpse of the missing tree, all the stumps and stones around
them began to change places as naturally as if it were quite the usual thing to do, while the sand beneath
their feet began to slip and slide uncomfortably.
"Wouldn't this make your hair curl?" Breathing hard, Grumpy edged closed to Scraps. As he
did, a whole cluster of bushes jumped up and, seizing branches, danced madly about the three travellers.
"Here we go 'round the mulberry bush-mulberry bush-mulberry bush!" chanted Scraps, putting
her hands up to her eyes.
"You mean, here they go 'round us!" mumbled Peter dizzily. "Stop! Stop! Go away, I never
saw anything so silly."
The bushes, however, went gaily on with their dance, but when they had circled around the
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travellers at least a hundred times, they seemed to tire of the sport and all of them skipped off together.
"This makes me cross, growled Grumpy, scowling terribly.
"Well, it makes me cross-eyed," acknowledged Scraps, starting forward uncertainly. "Look
out for that tree, Peter, it's going to trip you if it can. I'll tell you, let's shut our eyes and run!" Trying to
walk straight ahead with trees, rocks and bushes jumping about like colts they did begin to run. But a
young tree, dropping across their path, soon put a stop to that and they all fell sprawling together.
Rubbing his knees, Peter sat up.
"Wish we had Kuma's hand to guide us through this place," muttered the little boy, brushing his
hand wearily across his forehead.
"What we need is blinkers," sniffed Grumpy. "Hello, I see something that hasn't moved for a
whole minute."
"Where?" Peter and Scraps spoke in the same breath. Swallowing hard, Grumpy waved his
paw toward a great feathery bush, with three main branches. Without a word they kept their eyes fixed
upon it for several minutes. Then Peter, jumping up determinedly and giving no heed to the skipping
stones and slipping sands, ran straight for the bush. As fast as they could, Grumpy and the Patchwork
Girl followed him. It was quite a distance and Scraps was tripped up several times on the way, but at last
they stood before the only stationary object in that whole whirling wilder-ness.
"Feathers!" gasped Peter, pushing back his cap.
"And it's alive," cautioned Grumpy, moving back a few steps. "See, it has feet."
"It looks like- it may be why-, it is!" Rushing forward, Scraps tapped the strange creature
smartly on the leg. Peter had supposed it had three legs and no head, but at the sandy soil and, rearing its
long neck, an Oztrich looked at them inquiringly. Now an Oztrich, I don't mind telling you, is quite like an
ostrich, except that it has green feathers and blue eyes.
"Well?" hissed the oztrich, looking sadly from one to the other. "Where do you think you're
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going?"
"That's what we want to know," cried Scraps, for Peter was too surprised to speak. "Where [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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