through the Land of Oz, burning and devastating as we go.”
“Good!” cried the First and Foremost. “When we get through with Oz it will be a desert wilderness. Ozma shall be my slave.”
“She shall be MY slave!” shouted the Grand Gallipoot, angrily.
“We’ll decide that by and by,” said King Roquat hastily. “Don’t let us quarrel now, friends. First let us conquer Oz, and then we will divide the spoils of war in a satisfactory manner.”
The First and Foremost smiled wickedly; but he only said:
“I and my Phanfasms go first, for nothing on earth can oppose our power.”
They all agreed to that, knowing the Phanfasms to be the mightiest of the combined forces. King Roquat now invited them to attend a banquet he had prepared, where they might occupy themselves in eating and drinking until midnight arrived.
As they had now seen and heard all of the plot against them that they cared to, Ozma allowed her Magic Picture to fade away. Then she turned to her friends and said:
“Our enemies will be here sooner than I expected. What do you advise me to do?”
“It is now too late to assemble our people,” said the Tin Woodman, despondently. “If you had allowed me to arm and drill my Winkies, we might have put up a good fight and destroyed many of our enemies before we were conquered.”
“The Munchkins are good fighters, too,” said Omby Amby; “and so are the Gillikins.”
“But I do not wish to fight,” declared Ozma, firmly. “No one has the right to destroy any living creatures, however evil they may be, or to hurt them or make them unhappy. I will not fight, even to save my kingdom.”
“The Nome King is not so particular,” remarked the Scarecrow. “He intends to destroy us all and ruin our beautiful country.”
“Because the Nome King intends to do evil is no excuse for my doing the same,” replied Ozma.
“Self-preservation is the first law of nature,” quoted the Shaggy Man.
“True,” she said, readily. “I would like to discover a plan to save ourselves without fighting.”
That seemed a hopeless task to them, but realizing that Ozma was determined not to fight, they tried to think of some means that might promise escape.
“Couldn’t we bribe our enemies, by giving them a lot of emeralds and gold?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead.
“No, because they believe they are able to take everything we have,” replied the Ruler.
“I have thought of something,” said Dorothy.
“What is it, dear?” asked Ozma.
“Let us use the Magic Belt to wish all of us in Kansas. We will put some emeralds in our pockets, and can sell them in Topeka for enough to pay off the mortgage on Uncle Henry’s farm. Then we can all live together and be happy.”
“A clever idea!” exclaimed the Scarecrow.
“Kansas is a very good country. I’ve been there,” said the Shaggy Man.
“That seems to me an excellent plan,” approved the Tin Woodman.
“No!” said Ozma, decidedly. “Never will I desert my people and leave them to so cruel a fate. I will use the Magic Belt to send the rest of you to Kansas, if you wish, but if my beloved country must be destroyed and my people enslaved I will remain and share their fate.”
“Quite right,” asserted the Scarecrow, sighing. “I will remain with you.”
“And so will I,” declared the Tin Woodman and the Shaggy Man and Jack Pumpkinhead, in turn. Tiktok, the machine man, also said he intended to stand by Ozma. “For,” said he, “I should be of no use at all in Kan-sas.”
“For my part,” announced Dorothy, gravely, “if the Ruler of Oz must not desert her people, a Princess of Oz has no right to run away, either. I’m willing to become a slave with the rest of you; so all we can do with the Magic Belt is to use it to send Uncle Henry and Aunt Em back to Kansas.”
“I’ve been a slave all my life,” Aunt Em replied, with considerable cheerfulness, “and so has Henry. I guess we won’t go back to Kansas, anyway. I’d rather take my chances with the rest of you.”
Ozma smiled upon them all gratefully.
“There is no need to despair just yet,” she said. “I’ll get up early tomorrow morning and be at the Forbidden Fountain when the fierce warriors break through the crust of the earth. I will speak to them pleasantly and perhaps they won’t be so very bad, after all.”
“Why do they call it the Forbidden Fountain?” asked Dorothy, thoughtfully.
“Don’t you know, dear?” returned Ozma, surprised.
“No,” said Dorothy. “Of course I’ve seen the fountain in the palace grounds, ever since I first came to Oz; and I’ve read the sign which says: ‘All Persons are Forbidden to Drink at this Fountain.’ But I never knew WHY they were forbidden. The water seems clear and sparkling and it bubbles up in a golden basin all the time.”
“That water,” declared Ozma, gravely, “is the most dangerous thing in all the Land of Oz. It is the Water of Oblivion.”
“What does that mean?” asked Dorothy.
“Whoever drinks at the Forbidden Fountain at once forgets everything he has ever known,” Ozma asserted.
“It wouldn’t be a bad way to forget our troubles,” suggested Uncle Henry.
“That is true; but you would forget everything else, and become as ignorant as a baby,” returned Ozma.
“Does it make one crazy?” asked Dorothy.
“No; it only makes one forget,” replied the girl Ruler. “It is said that once—long, long ago—a wicked King ruled Oz, and made himself and all his people very miserable and unhappy. So Glinda, the Good Sorceress, placed this fountain here, and the King drank of its water and forgot all his wickedness. His mind became innocent and vacant, and when he learned the things of life again they were all good things. But the people remembered how wicked their King had been, and were still afraid of him. Therefore, he made them all drink of the Water of Oblivion and forget everything they had known, so that they became as simple and innocent as their King. After that, they all grew wise together, and their wisdom was good, so that peace and happiness reigned in the land. But for fear some one might drink of the water again, and in an instant forget all he had learned, the King put that sign upon the fountain, where it has remained for many centuries up to this very day.”
They had all listened intently to Ozma’s story, and when she finished speaking there was a long period of silence while all thought upon the curious magical power of the Water of Oblivion.
Finally the Scarecrow’s painted face took on a broad smile that stretched the cloth as far as it would go.
“How thankful
