THE MUSICAL MICE AND THEIR TALKING MACHINE

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Purple Prince of Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard in Oz, and The Wish Express, etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, April 6, 1919.


There was once an old gentleman mouse who played the fiddle and who was much in demand for parties, weddings and other entertainments in Mousedom. There are not very many musicians among the mice and poor Uncle Mumbledy was worked pretty hard. He was getting old too and rheumatic, and used sometimes to long for a quiet evening at home.

During the daytime he had scholars, and what with teaching and scales all day and fiddling and calling out dances (the mice are great for square dances) half the night, the poor old fellow was just worn out.

He often tried to think of a way out, but never seemed to be able to hit upon a plan. The young mice insisted that no dance music was like his, and refused to engage any of his scholars.

Then one day he made a wonderful discovery, which he kept all to himself. On his way home from a strawberry festival he was attracted by the sounds of sweet music. He stepped cautiously out of hole in the wall into the drawing room of a great house.

“Mousealive!” gasped Uncle Mumbledy. And no wonder, for it was the first time he had ever heard of music coming out of a box. You see, he had lived all his life in the attic of this very same house and not until this very evening had the strange new magic box been bought. All of his neighbors lived in the attic, too, and none of them had ever seen such a marvellous invention, of that he was very sure. At first he was going to run back and break the news to them as fast as he could. Then, he decided to wait and see how it was done.

Very quietly he tiptoed over to that part of the room where the music was coming from. Nobody saw him or heard him, so he ran quickly up the back of a big easy chair and perched on the top. Never had he heard such a concert. Growing more bold he stretched out at his ease and watched sharply everything that went on.

Then he took out a little memorandum and jotted down: “First, wind (this will be difficult); second, adjust needle; third, pull lever; fourth, shut off lever!” He put the memorandum in his pocket and gave himself up to pure enjoyment. He watched the mode of dancing practised by the humans with no small amazement. Then, perhaps because he was very tired or because the music was so soothing, he fell fast asleep. When he wakened it was 8 o’clock and the maid was already flourishing a feather duster. With a squeak of alarm he ran off to the garret.

He wished to keep the secret for the coming-out party of his favorite niece. He chuckled over the sensation it would cause and spent much time on the invitations. The parents of the little mouse were much surprised when Uncle Mumbledy suggested that the coming-out party be given in the drawing-room of the big house. But, as he was to furnish the music and refreshments, they readily agreed.

As 12 o’clock, on the evening of this happy occasion, the guests began to arrive in the drawing room, with bouquets of forget-me-nots, lady slippers and other tiny and appropriate mousy bouquets. Uncle Mumbledy was here and there and everywhere, welcoming and chatting, but everybody remarked upon a strange thing. He had not brought his fiddle. As the time for the dancing drew on and a part of the drawing room table was cleared for the purpose, their astonishment grew. Then came the surprise of the evening and the triumph of Uncle Mumbledy’s life. He ran hurriedly up the cabinet of a new and puzzling piece of furniture. Fortunately it was open, and a record in place. Pulling the lever hard and letting down the needle he started the talking machine, and not a step could a mouse take for sheer astonishment.

Then Uncle Mumbledy explained it as best he could and started off himself with a fat old lady mouse, and soon all the mice were dancing for dear life. Never had they heard such music nor experienced such pleasure. When the record was over and Uncle Mumbledy hastily ran up to turn it off, they clapped and clapped and nothing would do but to play it all over again. By that time it had run down, and all of the gentlemen mice together swung on the handle, and, after many accidents and rumbles, managed to wind it up again.

There were several records lying about. Putting on his specs Uncle Mumbledy picked out a familiar dance tune. Removing the old record and adjusting the new was no mean task, but the little creatures persevered and finally succeeded. Uncle Mumbledy, who had never had an opportunity to dance before (being always forced to fiddle), enjoyed himself hugely; in fact, never had a mouse party been so successful.

Toward the end of the evening they discovered another delightful use for the instrument. They turned it on without letting down the needle, the result being a perfect mouse merry-go-round.

Finally the noise attracted the master of the house.

“I could swear I hear music!” he murmured getting sleepily out of bed. At the first sound of his foot upon the stairs Uncle Mumbledy turned out all the little mice lanterns and, next minute, giggling and whispering, the party broke up. But many, many times they came back to enjoy a concert or dance, and many and many a morning the housemaid would wonder who left the records scattered about. I wonder if they ever dance to your talking machine?

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, August 1, 1920.

The Puzzle Corner

“Whew!” groaned the Forgetful Poet, slinking down in an office chair, “it’s bad enough to make puzzles in winter—but now! Whew! Don’t believe the boys and girls could guess ’em anyway!”

I gave him a glass of water and told him that I thought you could and that you didn’t mind hot weather like poets do. So he took a stub pencil and got to work and after a great deal of scribbling this is what he handed to me:

If a barrel laughed, would it give a -----?
How many sous in a bowl of -----?
What have a tree, a ship and a dog in common?

THE FOOLISH OLD MANATEE

There once was a foolish old manatee,
Who was known far and wide for her -----,
She was ugly and fat, but she didn’t know that,
And was proud to the point of -----.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2016 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

CLASS POEM OF 1932

By Eloise Jarvis McGraw
Author of The Rundelstone of Oz, Merry Go Round in Oz, The Forbidden Fountain of Oz, The Moorchild, etc.

Originally published under her maiden name Eloise Alton Jarvis in the 1932 Yearbook of Classen High School, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.


Out of the blurred past
Comes reality
And sudden clearness, like the smooth green, foamless wave
Riding to break white upon the shore.
And now my careless years
Are close upon the frowning rocks
Where they must pound and strive incessantly.
But these hazy years, traversed so blindly,
Have yet a tale to tell—a prize to show:
They have taught me how to hurl upon the crags
Receiving least hurt—most gain!
Some day the rocks will have worn away
Under the silver crashing of an eternity of breakers.

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 25, 1920.

The Puzzle Corner

The Forgetful Poet answers last week’s puzzles as follows:

The missing word in the rhyme is “Puffin,” and a house is like a book because it is make up of stories.

The two letters of the alphabet which make a word meaning to surpass are X and L, but you must spell them out so that they will read excel.

Copyright © 2016 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE DISH THAT WON A PRINCESS

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 
Author of The Lost King of Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!" etc.
 
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, March 16, 1919,


It was time the Princess Slimgrace was married; so King Hadalongname had decided; but there was one trouble—that was, to find something difficult for the young princes to accomplish as a test of their love and worthiness. The King thought and thought, but every time he seemed about to decide on some suitable feat, he fell asleep. It was very provoking when such an important matter was at stake.

Finally the King called the Prime Minister of the Private Affairs of the Palace, who looked very wise as he came into the King’s chamber, carrying several huge folios. “Your Majesty,” he began, bowing as low as his weighty burden would permit, “has summoned his most humble servant, I believe.” Here he paused, and after another bow took the seat to which the King pointed, then carefully wiped and adjusted his glasses.

After patiently waiting for these preliminaries to be finished, the King replied: “My dear Prime Minister, it is time the Princess Slimgrace was married.”

“Yes, most benign Sovereign,” returned the stately minister, “I was remarking the same thing to the Chief Barber and the Chief Shoe Buttoner just the other day.”

“Well, then,” continued the King, “what shall be decided upon for a fitting suitor’s contest?”

“Your Majesty, I find in this little book,” said the Minister opening one of his immense volumes, “numerous trials of love.”

“Read them,” commanded King Hadalongname.

“Killing a lion, slaying a giant, breaking iron gates—”

“Hold!” shouted the King. “These are all out of date. Haven’t you something more recent?”

“I regret deeply that I have not the pleasure of knowing anything modern,” answered the crestfallen minister, meekly.

“Then leave!” roared the King. The counsellor obeyed hastily, for by this time his majesty was in anything but an agreeable frame of mind.

And it was quite natural that he should feel extremely annoyed when his most trusted adviser showed such complete ignorance on this important subject. ‘Wild beasts to be killed! Wild fiddlesticks! There aren’t any but tame animals around anyway, and how should I know a suitor really killed a beast if I didn’t see him do it?”

Having delivered this convincing argument, the King ordered that all his chiefs, except the one just dismissed, should be summoned to assist him in his decision.

When they had all assembled he laid the matter before them, asking their opinions.

The Chief Barber thought eating a razor a trying little task, while the Chief Purveyor of Brushes judged the Prince who could count the bristles in 1000 brushes the most quickly would be the best successor to the King. The Chief Mathematician agreed to the latter suggestion, but the King was not pleased with either, and was beginning to scowl in a fearfully ferocious way when the Chief Cook spoke up.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “what could be more difficult than to get up a dinner with almost nothing to use and no money to buy anything, or none to speak of—say, a sixpence,” as he felt one in his pocket. “Then,” as he thought of his rye muffins which he had left in the oven, “a pocketful of rye, for instance.” And as a blackbird alighted in a tree near the window and began to chatter to its mate in its saucy way, he added: “Four and twenty blackbirds. Surely if anyone can do this he must have had a wise mother, and having had a wise mother, he will be likely to make a good husband.”

So much knowledge, and especially this last bit of wisdom, delighted the King, who ordered that the Cook should be made Chief Philosopher, and that the lovers’ contest should be announced in all the neighboring countries.

Few suitors came, for some had never handled so small a sum as a sixpence, others knew nothing about cooking and were too lazy to learn, and all were agreed that the feat was too difficult to attempt, even to obtain the hand of such a rich and beautiful young lady as the Princess Slimgrace. All were agreed, that is, all save one, Prince Lovliboy. He was not daunted in the least by the hard conditions separating him from his lady-love; for he and the Princess were old friends and were deeply in love with each other.

So he came to King Hadalongname’s palace, where he was to get up the dinner. Every day he laid snares for blackbirds until he had twenty-four. He then made a dough of rye and water, flavored with such spices as he could get for a sixpence. Into a pudding-dish he put this mixture, cooked it brown, then cut off the top, and slipped the birds in, and fastened the top on with bits of dough he had left for that purpose.

The time for the important dinner arrived at last. The Queen, who was exceedingly fond of bread and honey, finding that the Prince had not provided either of these articles of food, stayed out in the pantry, where she might indulge in them to her heart’s content. So there were only the Princess, the King and the Prince at the dinner. The great dish was set before the King. What was his surprise to see a flock of blackbirds fly out of it as he began to serve it.

He declared the Prince had won the Princess (to tell the truth, he wanted that Prince for his heir and successor), and went off to his counting-room to count his money to see how much he could give for the Princess’ dowry. The happy lovers went about the palace to be congratulated, but came across one poor maid who refused to share the general joyful feeling, for, said she, “While I was hanging out the clothes, one of those hateful little blackbirds snipped off my nose.”

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 18, 1920.

Puzzle Corner

Last week’s verse, properly completed should read

There once was silly old Auk
Who loved dearly to lecture and talk—
The seals fell asleep
When the subjects grew deep,
The away the old fellow would stalk!

The bird was a toucan.

See what you can make of this:

WHAT BIRD?

A second cousin to the Auk—
A diving bird’s the -----
He’s fond of tea and relishes
The wild strawberry muffin!

Why is a house like a book?

With two letters of the alphabet you can make a word of two syllables meaning to surpass.

[Answers next time.] 

Copyright © 2016 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

SHE INSISTS ON HER BOARDERS KEEPING LENT WITH INDIFFERENT SUCCESS

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan, Daughters of Destiny, etc.
 
Originally published in the Aberdeen Saturday Pioneer, February 22, 1890.


“I suppose,” said the landlady, furtively eyeing an ink-stain on the carpet and smoothing the ample wrinkles out of her ample gown with her ample hands, “I suppose, gentlemen, as you’re all good ‘Piskipalians.”

The doctor colored, and answered, “I frequently attend that church, and—yes, I may say that I am an Episcopalian.”

“Ever sense that Jumper sociable!” remarked the landlady, sarcastically.

“I myself feel strongly drawn to that excellent—would you call it religion? Or sect? Or—“

“Call it the Guilded Clique!” chuckled the landlady, to the Colonel’s no small confusion.

“And Tom—“

“I was brought up in the tenets of the church,” replied that languid young man. “I don’t know what the tenets were, but I was brought up in ‘em.”

“Then they was probably red flannels an’ diapers,” answered the landlady, absent-mindedly, while Tom turned to the photograph of Susan B. to enable him to regain his self-possession. For poor Susan has always possessed herself.

“Therefore,” says the landlady, with a smile of satisfaction, “you are all ‘Piskiples. Of course you’ll keep lent.”

The boarders looked at each other in surprise and uneasiness.

“I think I shall deny myself something,” remarked the colonel; “I shall either smoke nickle cigars instead of imported ones or take to a pipe. I haven’t dicided which.”

“And I,” said the doctor, cheerfully, “shall economise on horse feed. My mare has really had too liberal an allowance of oats lately. What shall you do, Tom?” and they all looked curiously at the dyed-in-the-wool Episcopalian.

“Oh, there is one course of denial which I always follow,” says this interesting youth. “I deny myself postage stamps and write to all my friends on postals. It’s inconvenient, ye know, but the lenten season must be duly observed.”

The landlady smiled an Act III, Scene III smile, for the climax was approaching, and led them without a word to the dinner table.

“Mrs. Bilkins,” said the colonel, when all were seated. “I am a little rushed today, as I have a client awaiting my return to renew a note. Please fetch on the dinner.”

“The dinner,” replied the landlady, trying to repress a fiendish look of triumph, “is on. This is ash We’nsday. Most landladys who has ‘Piskiple boarders has nothin’ but ashes for to eat today, but I ain’t that sort. Good ‘Piskiples, as ‘tends the Guild socials so reglar, mustn’t be starved, altho’ they should be incouraged in them tenements o’ the church as Mr. Tom were brought up in. So I’ve got some nice mush an’ milk for you, and if your conscience don’t prick you,--fall to an’ eat hearty!”

The boarders were conquered. They turned their hollow eyes and mouths and pink suffused brows upon the mush, and naught save the rattle of the spoons against the bowls broke the ominous silence which was the only thing that had reigned in Aberdeen since winter set in.

“I once knew a woman,” remarked the colonel at last, spitefully, “so mean that she put holes in her fried-cakes to economise.”

“Did she die a horrible death?” asked Tom.

“She did.”

The landlady was unmoved.

“And an old woman with whom I boarded chopped her hash so fine that she had to press the atmosphere over the platter to keep it from floating in the air.”

“That was in lent,” beamed the landlady, good-naturedly.

Here the doctor distinguished himself.

“One good thing about this season,” said he, “is that boarding house keepers never ask you for any money, because they know it’s lent!”

Mrs. Bilkins turned pale, and left the room abruptly, while the boarders made the best of their meagre fare and started for town in a brighter mood.

The landlady looked after them through the crack in the kitchen door.

“It’ll be a heap o’ savin’ just now, this lent business; but I’m afeared,” with a sigh that came from the darns on the heels of her socks, “I’m afeared they’ll more n’ make it up at Yeaster!” 

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 11, 1920. 

  

Puzzle Corner

You all seemed to know what was wrong with the dear chap’s verses last week and the animal referred to in his last poem was a bear. This week he would like you to finish this

Aukish Poem

There once was silly old Auk
Who loved dearly to lecture and -----?
The seals fell asleep
When the subjects grew -----?
The away the old fellow would -----?

And what bird is made up from a figure and an airtight container for food?

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2016 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

WHEN MOTHER BAKES A CAKE!

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Hungry Tiger of Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard in Oz, and The Wish Express, etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, October 3, 1915.


Sometimes when Mary Ann goes out
And leaves us by ourselves—
Mother and John and I come down
And clean the kitchen shelves!

And after we have set the pans
All in a shining row
And make the kitchen tidy
John and I most always know

That mother’s going to bake a cake—
And don’t we run to get
The bowls and cups and sifting sieve
And sugar—well, YOU BET!!

And while she stirs the batter up
She’ll chuckle with a wink—
“Why don’t you children run out doors,
You’d want to, I should think!”

But John and I stick close as fur
And say we’d rather stay
Inside—because it’s much too hot
To romp about today!

Why, we wouldn’t miss the lickings,
John and I—for all the fun
A-going and we stick around
Until the cake is done!

For after we have scraped the bowl,
There’s still the icing pan,
And mother leaves so much in both—
We wonder how she can.

And when it’s in the oven
We just sit and sniff and sniff
And bounce about—and every now
And then—we ask her—if

She doesn’t think it’s done?
And she just smiles and says, “Not yet!”
You see, there’s always samples—
That we know we’re going to get!

Sometimes I wish that Mary Ann
Would go away and STAY!
’Cause then, perhaps, our mother’d make
A cake just every day!

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 4, 1920.

Summer Time Rhymes and Riddles

The river mentioned last week was Susquehanna, the cities Fez and Lima and the words left out of the Forgetful pome Emma and emulated.

A HAPPY DAY

I went to walk upon the lake,
And, oh, the air felt good!
And after that I went to row
Out in a little wood.

How sweet the oars sang in the brake,
How soft the breezes blew!
I shipped my birds, took out my pen
And wrote this pome for you.

(Very kind of the Forgetful Poet, I’m sure; but I’m afraid he’s mixed in his dictionary—or something.)

WHAT ANIMAL?

The name for a person who simply glories
In telling jokes and sleepy stories
Will give an animal—what’s more,
Fill out the rhyme and call him -----?

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2016 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

 

OZMA AND THE LITTLE WIZARD

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Illustrations by John R. Neill

Originally published 1913.

Once upon a time there lived in the beautiful Emerald City, which lies in the center of the fairy Land of Oz, a lovely girl called Princess Ozma, who was ruler of all that country. And among those who served this girlish Ruler and lived in a cozy suite of rooms in her splendid palace, was a little, withered old man known as the Wizard of Oz.

  

This little Wizard could do a good many queer things in magic; but he was a kind man, with merry, twinkling eyes and a sweet smile; so, instead of fearing him because of his magic, everybody loved him.

Now, Ozma was very anxious that all her people who inhabited the pleasant Land of Oz should be happy and contented, and therefore she decided one morning to make a journey to all parts of the country, that she might discover if anything was amiss, or anyone discontented, or if there was any wrong that ought to be righted. She asked the little Wizard to accompany her and he was glad to go.

“Shall I take my bag of magic tools with me?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Ozma. “We may need a lot of magic before we return, for we are going into strange corners of the land, where we may meet with unknown creatures and dangerous adventures.”

So the Wizard took his bag of magic tools and the two left the Emerald City and wandered over the country for many days, at last reaching a place far up in the mountains which neither of them had ever visited before. Stopping one morning at a cottage, built beside the rocky path which led into a pretty valley beyond, Ozma asked a man:

“Are you happy? Have you any complaint to make of your lot?”

And the man replied:

“We are happy except for three mischievous Imps that live in yonder valley and often come here to annoy us. If your Highness would only drive away those Imps, I and my family would be very happy and very grateful to you.”

“Who are these bad Imps?” inquired the girl Ruler.

“One is named Olite, and one Udent and one Ertinent, and they have no respect for anyone or anything. If strangers pass through the valley the Imps jeer at them and make horrid faces and call names, and often they push travelers out of the path or throw stones at them. Whenever Imp Olite or Imp Udent or Imp Ertinent comes here to bother us, I and my family run into the house and lock all the doors and windows, and we dare not venture out again until the Imps have gone away.”

Princess Ozma was grieved to hear this report and the little Wizard shook his head gravely and said the naughty Imps deserved to be punished. They told the good man they would see what could be done to protect him and at once entered the valley to seek the dwelling place of the three mischievous creatures.

 

Before long they came upon three caves, hollowed from the rocks, and in front of each cave squatted a queer little dwarf. Ozma and the Wizard paused to examine them and found them well-shaped, strong and lively. They had big round ears, flat noses and wide grinning mouths, and their jet-black hair came to points on top of their heads, much resembling horns. Their clothing fitted snugly to their bodies and limbs and the Imps were so small in size that at first Ozma did not consider them at all dangerous. But one of them suddenly reached out a hand and caught the dress of the Princess, jerking it so sharply that she nearly fell down, and a moment later another Imp pushed the little Wizard so hard that he bumped against Ozma and both unexpectedly sat down upon the ground.

At this the Imps laughed boisterously and began running around in a circle and kicking dust upon the Royal Princess, who cried in a sharp voice: “Wizard, do your duty!”

The Wizard promptly obeyed. Without rising from the ground he opened his bag, got the tools he required and muttered a magic spell.

Instantly the three Imps became three bushes—of a thorny stubby kind—with their roots in the ground. As the bushes were at first motionless, perhaps through surprise at their sudden transformation, the Wizard and the Princess found time to rise from the ground and brush the dust off their pretty clothes. Then Ozma turned to the bushes and said:

“The unhappy lot you now endure, my poor Imps, is due entirely to your naughty actions. You can no longer annoy harmless travelers and you must remain ugly bushes, covered with sharp thorns, until you repent of your bad ways and promise to be good Imps."

"They can’t help being good now, your Highness,” said the Wizard, who was much pleased with his work, “and the safest plan will be to allow them always to remain bushes.”

But something must have been wrong with the Wizard’s magic, or the creatures had magic of their own, for no sooner were the words spoken than the bushes began to move. At first they only waved their branches at the girl and little man, but pretty soon they began to slide over the ground, their roots dragging through the earth, and one pushed itself against the Wizard and pricked him so sharply with its thorns that he cried out: “Ouch!” and started to run away.

Ozma followed, for the other bushes were trying to stick their thorns into her legs and one actually got so near her that it tore a great rent in her beautiful dress. The girl Princess could run, however, and she followed the fleeing Wizard until he tumbled head first over a log and rolled upon the ground. Then she sprang behind a tree and shouted: “Quick! Transform them into something else.”

The Wizard heard, but he was much confused by his fall. Grabbing from his bag the first magical tool he could find he transformed the bushes into three white pigs. That astonished the Imps. In the shape of pigs—fat, roly-poly and cute—they scampered off a little distance and sat down to think about their new condition.

Ozma drew a long breath and coming from behind the tree she said:

“That is much better, Wiz, for such pigs as these must be quite harmless. No one need now fear the mischievous Imps.”

“I intended to transform them into mice,” replied the Wizard, “but in my excitement I worked the wrong magic. However, unless the horrid creatures behave themselves hereafter, they are liable to be killed and eaten. They would make good chops, sausages or roasts.”

But the Imps were now angry and had no intention of behaving. As Ozma and the little Wizard turned to resume their journey, the three pigs rushed forward, dashed between their legs, and tripped them up, so that both lost their balance and toppled over, clinging to one another. As the Wizard tried to get up he was tripped again and fell across the back of the third pig, which carried him on a run far down the valley until it dumped the little man in the river. Ozma had been sprawled upon the ground but found she was not hurt, so she picked herself up and ran to the assistance of the Wizard, reaching him just as he was crawling out of the river, gasping for breath and dripping with water. The girl could not help laughing at his woeful appearance. But he had no sooner wiped the wet from his eyes than one of the impish pigs tripped him again and sent him into the river for a second bath. The pigs tried to trip Ozma, too, but she ran around a stump and so managed to keep out of their way. So the Wizard scrambled out of the water again and picked up a sharp stick to defend himself. Then he mumbled a magic mutter which instantly dried his clothes, after which he hurried to assist Ozma. The pigs were afraid of the sharp stick and kept away from it.

“This won’t do,” said the Princess. “We have accomplished nothing, for the pig Imps would annoy travelers as much as the real Imps. Transform them into something else, Wiz.”

The Wizard took time to think. Then he transformed the white pigs into three blue doves.

“Doves,” said he, “are the most harmless things in the world.”

But scarcely had he spoken when the doves flew at them and tried to peck out their eyes. When they endeavored to shield their eyes with their hands, two of the doves bit the Wizard’s fingers and another caught the pretty pink ear of the Princess in its bill and gave it such a cruel tweak that she cried out in pain and threw her skirt over her head.

“These birds are worse than pigs, Wizard,” she called to her companion. “Nothing is harmless that is animated by impudent anger or impertinent mischief. You must transform the Imps into something that is not alive.”

The Wizard was pretty busy, just then, driving off the birds, but he managed to open his bag of magic and find a charm which instantly transformed the doves into three buttons. As they fell to the ground he picked them up and smiled with satisfaction. The tin button was Imp Olite, the brass button was Imp Udent and the lead button was Imp Ertinent. These buttons the Wizard placed in a little box which he put in his jacket pocket.

“Now,” said he, “the Imps cannot annoy travelers, for we shall carry them back with us to the Emerald City.”

“But we dare not use the buttons,” said Ozma, smiling once more now that the danger was over.

“Why not?” asked the Wizard. “I intend to sew them upon my coat and watch them carefully. The spirits of the Imps are still in the buttons, and after a time they will repent and be sorry for their naughtiness. Then they will decide to be very good in the future. When they feel that way, the tin button will turn to silver and the brass to gold, while the lead button will become aluminum. I shall then restore them to their proper forms, changing their names to pretty names instead of the ugly ones they used to bear. Thereafter the three Imps will become good citizens of the Land of Oz and I think you will find they will prove faithful subjects of our beloved Princess Ozma.”

“Ah, that is magic well worthwhile,” exclaimed Ozma, well pleased. “There is no doubt, my friend, but that you are a very clever Wizard."

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 27, 1920. 

Puzzle Corner

The berries left out of last week’s verses were elderberry, mulberry, bilberry, gooseberry and blueberry, and all of them sound better in pie than poetry, I think; but the Forgetful Poet takes liberties with everything. The eland named Ella played well on the cello, or so he was told by a seafaring fellow.

Now he wants to know what Pennsylvania river has a little girl’s first name—last?

WHAT TWO CITIES?

A tassel on a Turkish hat
Gives a Moroccan city.
A certain bean will give another—
Guess them if you’re witty.
(The second is in the U.S.)

And just finish these lines.

THE STORY OF _____

There once was an emu named -----,
Who found herself in a dilemma
All the styles she created
Her friends -----
Alas for the emu named -----.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2016 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE TALE OF TERRY TOM TURTLE

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of The Royal Book of Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, August 19, 1917.


Terry Tom Turtle was a good-hearted old bachelor marine who kept a salt shop down in the ocean bed. His salt taffies were known for miles ’round and all the fish and deep sea creatures patronized his shop. Of course, you know that the sea folks love salt just about as much as we love candy, so no wonder Tom had a pile of shells, which is sea talk for money. Every Saturday night Wilfred Whale bought a ton of salt taffy for his children and left five hundred little pink shells to pay for them, and every Saturday night Tom took those and all the other shells he had received during the week to Solomon Swordfish’s Interoceanical Bank, which was not only guarded by watch-dogfish, but by a company of swordfish soldiers. Terry Tom Turtle always felt easier in his mind after he had deposited his shells, because there are no end of robbers in the sea kingdom and a marauding band of octopuses had been operating in his neighborhood and grabbed about everything in sight.

So Tom, feeling quite contented and happy, stretched himself out to read the Seaweed Review and went to sleep so sound and fast that he never wakened up till 10 o’clock Monday morning and only wakened then because some one was hammering loudly upon the shop door. “Must be a customer!” yawned Tom, waddling across to the door. Tom, you know, was one of these huge big turtles, most six feet tall, that you have often see in pictures, so no wonder he waddles. Well, waddle or not, he got to the door and who should be there but Solomon Swordfish. “Robbers!” gasped Solomon, flopping over on one fin and rolling his eyes in toward his nose. “What?” shrieked Terry T. T. (you don’t mind if I abbreviate, I hope.) “Where are the watch-dogfish and the guard?” “G-ug-gone!” gurgled Solomon miserably.

At that Terry T. T.’s eyes snapped angrily and giving his shell a hitch, he plunged out of the shop. “Wait till I catch ’em!” he rumbled, swimming off to the bank as fast as he could go.

What a sight met Terry Tom’s gaze! Two frightful-looking monsters with tails extending up—up and out of sight—standing on their two hind legs pulling the shells and pearls and other precious property out of the safe deposit caves of the Interoceanical Bank. All the officials of the bank, the watch dogs and swordfish guard had retired to a twenty-yard distance and were watching the robbery with bulging eyes, but making no attempt to interfere. “Cowards!” hissed Terry Tom, cutting through the water like a submarine. Snap came his teeth against the leg of one of the monsters, but nothing happened. “Incased in shells!” mumbled Tom, swimming out of the way, “but they must have some soft spots and I’ll keep at ’em till I find ’em!” The monsters were much annoyed by the frequent rushes of Terry Tom. They consulted together a few minutes, then one of them pulled his tail—his own tail I mean—and taking up a piece of wood held it out toward the giant turtle. Scarcely seeing what he was doing Terry made another snap and this time his teeth closed on something soft. “I’ll never let go!” raged Tom, with his eyes fast shut. And he never did. For the next minute the monster began to rush upward through the water and as Tom was determined not to let go, he rushed along.

I wish this story had a different ending, for I hate to tell you that Tom ended in the soup. But that’s what happened and you might as well know it. As soon as the diver, for the monsters were divers, as I suppose you have guessed long ago—as soon as the diver reached the surface there was a loud whack, the last Tom ever felt, and the next day there was turtle soup for everybody on board. Pshaw! Too bad, but Tom should not have thought so much of his money, or rather his shells.

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 20, 1920.

 

The Puzzle Corner

Before we start any further nonsense we had better answer last week’s riddles. Camp kit, peacock and Persian. Of course a cat would talk Persian if it really did talk.

Now this week the Forgetful Poet has decided to say it with berries, and all the blanks in the following verses may be filled in by berries, if you please:

My ----- sister has a dress
Of very finest -----
And goes to dances, while I stay
At home and find it dull!

She is eighteen and I am eight,
And then my brother -----
Hies off to camp, and I’m left out
Of that, which is worse still!

“Don’t be a -----,” my mother says.
“’Tis foolish to be -----!”
I’d give a lot to be a very
Little girl like you.

And can you finish this poem?

There was a young eland name Ella,
Who played very well on the -----
And made heaps of gold, so at least I was told
By a trustworthy, seafaring -----.

[Answers next time.] 

 

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