CHAPTER 3

What the Green Tree Said

"Won't Dorothy and Ozma be surprised when we turn up at the palace?" Taking a running jump, Peter cleared a tree and then hurried back to help Jack Pumpkinhead across.

"I'll be surprised myself," said Jack, stepping solemnly over the log. "Here we are at the end of this wood and no signs of the Emerald City at all. Do you see anything green, Peter?" Peter shook his head, for as far as the eye could reach there was nothing but rocks and sand, tinged with the rusty red of the Quadling Country.

"I see red, nothing but red," sighed the little boy in a depressed voice. "Wait, there's one green tree, though--a fir tree. Why, it's running straight for us. Hey! Look what you're doing! Get off my foot!" Giving the tree a quick shove, Peter sprang backward. But the tree leaned a little further over, and resting its lower branches on his shoulders began to sob heavily.

"I'm very tired," it panted in a weak whisper, "very tired!" It spoke through a hollow in the center of its trunk and its knot eyes stared mournfully into Peter's own.

"Well, you can't lean on me," exclaimed Peter crossly, giving it another push. "I'm tired too! Why I never heard of such a thing," he continued in an indignant voice. "What are you doing, where are you going, why don't you act like a regular tree?" Wrenching the branches from his shoulders, Peter stepped off and eyed it angrily.

"You don't belong in this country anyway," put in Jack accusingly. "You're green and you know it!"

"Hush," muttered the tree, putting a lower branch over its mouth. "I'm a Christmas Tree, looking for last year's ornaments." There were a few gay colored balls still clinging to the top and as Peter, too astonished to make any reply continued to stare, the tree drew closer.

"Are you a Christmas present?" it asked hoarsely. "Are you an ornament?"

"Oh go away!" laughed the little boy, giving it another shove. "Do I look like a Christmas present? And can't you see we're not ornaments?" With a little chuckle, he waved at his companion.

"I could use his head," murmured the tree, squinting through its branches at Jack. "It's not at all pretty, but it would light up and look real merry. Here you!" With a sudden pounce the tree made for Jack. "Give me your pumpkin head and no nonsense either!" As Jack and Peter both jumped back together, a simply astonishing thing happened. From the end of each branch on the Christmas tree a hand shot out, and with each hand extended it dashed after them.

"See! I trim myself!" it yelled, snapping its fingers hilariously. "Come here you provoking boy. I'll wager you have plenty of stuff in your pockets I could use for presents. Have you a watch or a gold pen knife?" At each question, it made greedy snatches at Peter. "Let me pick your pockets! Give me your head you great jumping-jack!" Ten of its hands just grazed Jack's coat-tails.

At first Peter had been rather amused by the Christmas tree, but now, thoroughly alarmed, he clutched Jack's hand and ran so fast that Jack had all he could do to hold on to his head and keep from stumbling. As they continued to elude it, the determined little tree grew very angry. Hopping up and down its roots, it seized the ornaments from its top branches and hurled them one after another at the fleeing pair. Three balls and a candy cane crashed to bits on Peter's head, and as he dodged in between two big boulders a silver dinner bell tied with red ribbon hit him sharply between the eyes.

"Gee-whiz!" spluttered the little boy, clapping his hand to his forehead, "this is no fun!" Pulling Jack after him, he squeezed into a narrow crevice between the rocks, but before he did Jack leaned down, picked up the bell and slipped it into his pocket. As the Christmas tree attempted to push its way between the rocks, Peter and Jack pressed against a rough wall at the back. Now it happened that in this wall there was a swinging rock door, and as they both leaned hard against it, the door swung inward and spilled them abruptly into a narrow stone corridor. Next instant the door slammed to, leaving them sitting in surprise and consternation on the rocky floor. They could hear the tree pounding with all its fists against the panels, but a bolt had dropped into place as the door closed, so there seemed little danger of further pursuit.

"I wish we'd stop this falling about," complained Peter, picking himself up a bit wearily. "We're always doing something we don't expect."

"That's because we're in Oz," answered Jack cheerfully, "and at any rate, we have saved my head from the Christmas tree."

Peter felt inclined to remark that saving Jack's head was not so very important, but thinking better of it, he went on in an exasperated tone: "Christmas trees in our country don't chase people nor throw things at them. They stay where they're put."

"Yes," said Jack Pumpkinhead blandly, "I suppose they do, but Oz Christmas trees are more progressive, more up-and-coming." Taking out the silver bell the Christmas Tree had thrown at Peter, Jack held it close to his ear and then swung it slowly to and fro. At its first silver ring Peter, thinking it would rouse the owner of the cave, rushed over to stop Jack, only to collide violently with a tiny black slave who had apparently sprung up from nowhere. He wore a simply enormous turban and carried an immense silver tray. Regaining his balance with great composure, the little black slave set the tray on the floor, folded his arms and with a deep bow melted into thin air.

"It's a dinner!" shouted Peter, dropping on the floor and hungrily snatching off the white napkin that covered the tray. "Well, of all things!"

"Unexpected things, you mean," corrected Jack slyly, "and I notice you don't object to this one."

"Let me see that bell," puffed Peter, reaching across the tray. It was not very light in the cavern, but even so he could read the inscription on the shining silver surface. "The Red Djinn's dinner bell," said the carved letters mysteriously. "A magic dinner bell," exclaimed Peter delightedly. "This certainly makes up for the bird seed. And did you see that boy dissolve into nothing right before our eyes?" Jack nodded.

"Better eat that dinner before it does the same thing," he advised calmly. As this seemed not at all improbable, Peter made short work of the roast duck, mashed potatoes, hot rolls and apple sauce. He had just finished the last roll, when tray, dishes and silverware vanished suddenly.

"Shall I ring the bell again?" inquired Jack, as Peter stared dazedly at the spot where the tray had been. Although Jack was not constructed for eating, he had thoroughly enjoyed watching Peter.

"No," decided the little boy with a satisfied nod, "I've had enough, and it was good. But I wonder how that Christmas tree got hold of the Red Djinn's dinner bell?"

"Stole it probably," answered Jack, rubbing the bell on his sleeve. "Maybe the old Djinn didn't run fast enough. Anyway it's a regular Christmas present for you, Peter. Whenever you're hungry we'll just ring it." With a pleased chuckle, Jack slipped the bell back into his pocket.

"It certainly will be useful," sighed Peter, patting his stomach with a contented little sigh. Now that his hunger was satisfied, he felt quite cheerful and adventurous again. "Let's see where this passageway leads," he added, peering round the dark corner at the end of the little corridor.

"Why don't you throw that old sack away?" inquired Jack Pumpkinhead, as they walked slowly along the strange hallway. "What good is it?"

"I don't know," answered Peter, swinging the pirate's sack carelessly to and fro. "I had it when I landed here and it might come in handy to carry things in."

"What kind of things?" asked Jack stupidly. Peter did not bother to answer for they had come suddenly upon a great scowling goblin-head lantern. Under the lantern hung a flashing red sign.

"T--remble!"--directed the sign in big red letters.

"I don't see why we should tremble," said Peter, squinting defiantly up at the goblin lantern. At Peter's words the lantern went out, and whistling through the dark windy corridor came such a succession of wails, sighs and horrid screeches that Peter's heart stood still.

"Are you trembling?" quavered Jack, as the hair raising noise died away. "Not exactly," stuttered Peter, leaning against the wall to steady himself. As the lantern flashed on again, he peered anxiously all around. But there was no one in sight, so putting back his shoulders and taking a deep breath Peter marched bravely forward. "There's nothing to be frightened about," he called reassuringly over his shoulder.

"Well, nothing certainly made enough noise," murmured Jack, straightening his head which had spun round and round at the horrible outcrys. "I wish we were safely out of this, dear Peter." Peter did not say so, but he heartily echoed Jack's wish. As they progressed along the strange corridor the goblin lanterns became more numerous and ugly, and the last turn brought them to a high, red, spiked gate. On every spike there was a frowning scare head, and as the two travellers paused uncertainly, each head stuck out its tongue.

"Boo--OO!" shrieked the heads all together, so loud and so shrilly that Peter almost took to his heels and Jack, without meaning to at all, sat down. As the little boy hurriedly tugged him to his feet, the red gates swung open.

"Welcome to Scare City!" boomed a horrid voice. "Quake! Shake! Pale and tremble!"