Walking a little way back from
the water's edge, toward the
grove of trees, Dorothy came
to a flat stretch of white sand
that seemed to have queer signs
marked upon its surface, just
as one would write upon sand
with a stick.
"What does it say?" she
asked the yellow hen, who trotted
along
beside her in a rather dignified
fashion.
"How should I know?" returned
the hen. "I cannot read."
"Oh! Can't
you?"
"Certainly
not; I've never been to school,
you know."
"Well, I have," admitted Dorothy; "but
the letters are big and far apart,
and it's hard to spell out the
words."
But she looked at each letter
carefully, and finally discovered
that these words were written
in the sand:
"BEWARE THE
WHEELERS!"
"That's rather strange," declared
the hen, when Dorothy had read
aloud the words. "What do you
suppose the Wheelers are?"
"Folks that wheel, I guess.
They must have wheelbarrows,
or baby-cabs or hand-carts," said
Dorothy.
"Perhaps they're automobiles," suggested
the yellow hen. "There is no
need to beware of baby-cabs and
wheelbarrows; but automobiles
are dangerous things. Several
of my friends have been run over
by them."
"It can't be auto'biles," replied
the girl, "for this is a new,
wild country, without even trolley-cars
or tel'phones. The people here
haven't been discovered yet,
I'm sure; that is, if there ARE
any people. So I don't b'lieve
there CAN be any auto'biles,
Billina."
"Perhaps not," admitted the
yellow hen. "Where are you going
now?"
"Over to those trees, to see
if I can find some fruit or nuts," answered
Dorothy.
She tramped across the sand,
skirting the foot of one of the
little rocky hills that stood
near, and soon reached the edge
of the forest.
At first she was greatly disappointed,
because the nearer trees were
all punita, or cotton-wood or
eucalyptus, and bore no fruit
or nuts at all. But, bye and
bye, when she was almost in despair,
the little girl came upon two
trees that promised to furnish
her with plenty of food.
One was quite
full of square paper boxes,
which grew in clusters
on all the limbs, and upon the
biggest and ripest boxes the
word "Lunch" could be read, in
neat raised letters. This tree
seemed to bear all the year around,
for there were lunch-box blossoms
on some of the branches, and
on others tiny little lunch-boxes
that were as yet quite green,
and evidently not fit to eat
until they had grown bigger.
The leaves of this tree were
all paper napkins, and it presented
a very pleasing appearance to
the hungry little girl.
But the tree next to the lunch-box
tree was even more wonderful,
for it bore quantities of tin
dinner-pails, which were so full
and heavy that the stout branches
bent underneath their weight.
Some were small and dark-brown
in color; those larger were of
a dull tin color; but the really
ripe ones were pails of bright
tin that shone and glistened
beautifully in the rays of sunshine
that touched them.
Dorothy was delighted, and
even the yellow hen acknowledged
that she was surprised.
The little girl stood on tip-toe
and picked one of the nicest
and biggest lunch-boxes, and
then she sat down upon the ground
and eagerly opened it. Inside
she found, nicely wrapped in
white papers, a ham sandwich,
a piece of sponge-cake, a pickle,
a slice of new cheese and an
apple. Each thing had a separate
stem, and so had to be picked
off the side of the box; but
Dorothy found them all to be
delicious, and she ate every
bit of luncheon in the box before
she had finished.
"A lunch isn't zactly breakfast," she
said to Billina, who sat beside
her curiously watching. "But
when one is hungry one can eat
even supper in the morning, and
not complain."
"I hope your lunch-box was
perfectly ripe," observed the
yellow hen, in a anxious tone. "So
much sickness is caused by eating
green things."
"Oh, I'm sure it was ripe," declared
Dorothy, "all, that is, 'cept
the pickle, and a pickle just
HAS to be green, Billina. But
everything tasted perfectly splendid,
and I'd rather have it than a
church picnic. And now I think
I'll pick a dinner-pail, to have
when I get hungry again, and
then we'll start out and 'splore
the country, and see where we
are."
"Haven't you any idea what
country this is?" inquired Billina.
"None at all.
But listen: I'm quite sure
it's a fairy country,
or such things as lunch-boxes
and dinner-pails wouldn't be
growing upon trees. Besides,
Billina, being a hen, you wouldn't
be able to talk in any civ'lized
country, like Kansas, where no
fairies live at all."
"Perhaps we're in the Land
of Oz," said the hen, thoughtfully.
"No, that can't be," answered
the little girl; because I've
been to the Land of Oz, and it's
all surrounded by a horrid desert
that no one can cross."
"Then how did you get away
from there again?" asked Billina.
"I had a pair of silver shoes,
that carried me through the air;
but I lost them," said Dorothy.
"Ah, indeed," remarked
the yellow hen, in a tone of
unbelief.
"Anyhow," resumed the girl, "there
is no seashore near the Land
of Oz, so this must surely be
some other fairy country."
While she was speaking she
selected a bright and pretty
dinner-pail that seemed to have
a stout handle, and picked it
from its branch. Then, accompanied
by the yellow hen, she walked
out of the shadow of the trees
toward the sea-shore.
They were part way across the
sands when Billina suddenly cried,
in a voice of terror:
"What's that?"
Dorothy turned quickly around,
and saw coming out of a path
that led from between the trees
the most peculiar person her
eyes had ever beheld.
It had the form of a man, except
that it walked, or rather rolled,
upon all fours, and its legs
were the same length as its arms,
giving them the appearance of
the four legs of a beast. Yet
it was no beast that Dorothy
had discovered, for the person
was clothed most gorgeously in
embroidered garments of many
colors, and wore a straw hat
perched jauntily upon the side
of its head. But it differed
from human beings in this respect,
that instead of hands and feet
there grew at the end of its
arms and legs round wheels, and
by means of these wheels it rolled
very swiftly over the level ground.
Afterward Dorothy found that
these odd wheels were of the
same hard substance that our
finger-nails and toe-nails are
composed of, and she also learned
that creatures of this strange
race were born in this queer
fashion. But when our little
girl first caught sight of the
first individual of a race that
was destined to cause her a lot
of trouble, she had an idea that
the brilliantly-clothed personage
was on roller-skates, which were
attached to his hands as well
as to his feet.
"Run!" screamed the yellow
hen, fluttering away in great
fright. "It's a Wheeler!"
"A Wheeler?" exclaimed Dorothy. "What
can that be?"
"Don't you
remember the warning in the
sand: 'Beware the Wheelers'?
Run, I tell you--run!"
So Dorothy ran, and the Wheeler
gave a sharp, wild cry and came
after her in full chase.
Looking over her shoulder as
she ran, the girl now saw a great
procession of Wheelers emerging
from the forest--dozens and dozens
of them--all clad in splendid,
tight-fitting garments and all
rolling swiftly toward her and
uttering their wild, strange
cries.
"They're sure to catch us!" panted
the girl, who was still carrying
the heavy dinner-pail she had
picked. "I can't run much farther,
Billina."
"Climb up this hill,--quick!" said
the hen; and Dorothy found she
was very near to the heap of
loose and jagged rocks they had
passed on their way to the forest.
The yellow hen was even now fluttering
among the rocks, and Dorothy
followed as best she could, half
climbing and half tumbling up
the rough and rugged steep.
She was none too soon, for
the foremost Wheeler reached
the hill a moment after her;
but while the girl scrambled
up the rocks the creature stopped
short with howls of rage and
disappointment.
Dorothy now heard the yellow
hen laughing, in her cackling,
henny way.
"Don't hurry, my dear," cried
Billina. "They can't follow us
among these rocks, so we're safe
enough now."
Dorothy stopped at once and
sat down upon a broad boulder,
for she was all out of breath.
The rest of the Wheelers had
now reached the foot of the hill,
but it was evident that their
wheels would not roll upon the
rough and jagged rocks, and therefore
they were helpless to follow
Dorothy and the hen to where
they had taken refuge. But they
circled all around the little
hill, so the child and Billina
were fast prisoners and could
not come down without being captured.
Then the creatures shook their
front wheels at Dorothy in a
threatening manner, and it seemed
they were able to speak as well
as to make their dreadful outcries,
for several of them shouted:
"We'll get
you in time, never fear! And
when we do get you,
we'll tear you into little bits!"
"Why are you so cruel to me?" asked
Dorothy. "I'm a stranger in your
country, and have done you no
harm."
"No harm!" cried one who seemed
to be their leader. "Did you
not pick our lunch-boxes and
dinner-pails? Have you not a
stolen dinner-pail still in your
hand?"
"I only picked one of each," she
answered. "I was hungry, and
I didn't know the trees were
yours."
"That is no excuse," retorted
the leader, who was clothed in
a most gorgeous suit. "It is
the law here that whoever picks
a dinner-pail without our permission
must die immediately."
"Don't you believe him," said
Billina. "I'm sure the trees
do not belong to these awful
creatures. They are fit for any
mischief, and it's my opinion
they would try to kill us just
the same if you hadn't picked
a dinner-pail."
"I think so, too," agreed Dorothy. "But
what shall we do now?"
"Stay where we are," advised
the yellow hen. "We are safe
from the Wheelers until we starve
to death, anyhow; and before
that time comes a good many things
can happen."
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