Dorothy Gale lived on a farm
in Kansas, with her Aunt Em and
her Uncle Henry. It was not a
big farm, nor a very good one,
because sometimes the rain did
not come when the crops needed
it, and then everything withered
and dried up. Once a cyclone
had carried away Uncle Henry's
house, so that he was obliged
to build another; and as he was
a poor man he had to mortgage
his farm to get the money to
pay for the new house. Then his
health became bad and he was
too feeble to work. The doctor
ordered him to take a sea voyage
and he went to Australia and
took Dorothy with him. That cost
a lot of money, too.
Uncle Henry grew poorer every
year, and the crops raised on
the farm only bought food for
the family. Therefore the mortgage
could not be paid. At last the
banker who had loaned him the
money said that if he did not
pay on a certain day, his farm
would be taken away from him.
This worried Uncle Henry a
good deal, for without the farm
he would have no way to earn
a living. He was a good man,
and worked in the field as hard
as he could; and Aunt Em did
all the housework, with Dorothy's
help. Yet they did not seem to
get along.
This little girl, Dorothy,
was like dozens of little girls
you know. She was loving and
usually sweet-tempered, and had
a round rosy face and earnest
eyes. Life was a serious thing
to Dorothy, and a wonderful thing,
too, for she had encountered
more strange adventures in her
short life than many other girls
of her age.
Aunt Em once said she thought
the fairies must have marked
Dorothy at her birth, because
she had wandered into strange
places and had always been protected
by some unseen power. As for
Uncle Henry, he thought his little
niece merely a dreamer, as her
dead mother had been, for he
could not quite believe all the
curious stories Dorothy told
them of the Land of Oz, which
she had several times visited.
He did not think that she tried
to deceive her uncle and aunt,
but he imagined that she had
dreamed all of those astonishing
adventures, and that the dreams
had been so real to her that
she had come to believe them
true.
Whatever the explanation might
be, it was certain that Dorothy
had been absent from her Kansas
home for several long periods,
always disappearing unexpectedly,
yet always coming back safe and
sound, with amazing tales of
where she had been and the unusual
people she had met. Her uncle
and aunt listened to her stories
eagerly and in spite of their
doubts began to feel that the
little girl had gained a lot
of experience and wisdom that
were unaccountable in this age,
when fairies are supposed no
longer to exist.
Most of Dorothy's stories were
about the Land of Oz, with its
beautiful Emerald City and a
lovely girl Ruler named Ozma,
who was the most faithful friend
of the little Kansas girl. When
Dorothy told about the riches
of this fairy country Uncle Henry
would sigh, for he knew that
a single one of the great emeralds
that were so common there would
pay all his debts and leave his
farm free. But Dorothy never
brought any jewels home with
her, so their poverty became
greater every year.
When the banker told Uncle
Henry that he must pay the money
in thirty days or leave the farm,
the poor man was in despair,
as he knew he could not possibly
get the money. So he told his
wife, Aunt Em, of his trouble,
and she first cried a little
and then said that they must
be brave and do the best they
could, and go away somewhere
and try to earn an honest living.
But they were getting old and
feeble and she feared that they
could not take care of Dorothy
as well as they had formerly
done. Probably the little girl
would also be obliged to go to
work.
They did not tell their niece
the sad news for several days,
not wishing to make her unhappy;
but one morning the little girl
found Aunt Em softly crying while
Uncle Henry tried to comfort
her. Then Dorothy asked them
to tell her what was the matter.
"We must give up the farm,
my dear," replied her uncle sadly, "and
wander away into the world to
work for our living."
The girl listened quite seriously,
for she had not known before
how desperately poor they were.
"We don't mind for ourselves," said
her aunt, stroking the little
girl's head tenderly; "but we
love you as if you were our own
child, and we are heart-broken
to think that you must also endure
poverty, and work for a living
before you have grown big and
strong."
"What could I do to earn money?" asked
Dorothy.
"You might
do housework for some one,
dear, you are so handy;
or perhaps you could be a nurse-maid
to little children. I'm sure
I don't know exactly what you
CAN do to earn money, but if
your uncle and I are able to
support you we will do it willingly,
and send you to school. We fear,
though, that we shall have much
trouble in earning a living for
ourselves. No one wants to employ
old people who are broken down
in health, as we are."
Dorothy smiled.
"Wouldn't it be funny," she
said, "for me to do housework
in Kansas, when I'm a Princess
in the Land of Oz?"
"A Princess!" they
both exclaimed, astonished.
"Yes; Ozma made me a Princess
some time ago, and she has often
begged me to come and live always
in the Emerald City," said the
child.
Her uncle and aunt looked at
her in amazement. Then the man
said:
"Do you suppose
you could manage to return
to your fairyland,
my dear?"
"Oh yes," replied Dorothy; "I
could do that easily."
"How?" asked
Aunt Em.
"Ozma sees
me every day at four o'clock,
in her Magic Picture.
She can see me wherever I am,
no matter what I am doing. And
at that time, if I make a certain
secret sign, she will send for
me by means of the Magic Belt,
which I once captured from the
Nome King. Then, in the wink
of an eye, I shall be with Ozma
in her palace."
The elder people remained silent
for some time after Dorothy had
spoken. Finally, Aunt Em said,
with another sigh of regret:
"If that is
the case, Dorothy, perhaps
you'd better go and live
in the Emerald City. It will
break our hearts to lose you
from our lives, but you will
be so much better off with your
fairy friends that it seems wisest
and best for you to go."
"I'm not so sure about that," remarked
Uncle Henry, shaking his gray
head doubtfully. "These things
all seem real to Dorothy, I know;
but I'm afraid our little girl
won't find her fairyland just
what she had dreamed it to be.
It would make me very unhappy
to think that she was wandering
among strangers who might be
unkind to her."
Dorothy laughed merrily at
this speech, and then she became
very sober again, for she could
see how all this trouble was
worrying her aunt and uncle,
and knew that unless she found
a way to help them their future
lives would be quite miserable
and unhappy. She knew that she
COULD help them. She had thought
of a way already. Yet she did
not tell them at once what it
was, because she must ask Ozma's
consent before she would be able
to carry out her plans.
So she only said:
"If you will
promise not to worry a bit
about me, I'll go
to the Land of Oz this very afternoon.
And I'll make a promise, too;
that you shall both see me again
before the day comes when you
must leave this farm."
"The day isn't far away, now," her
uncle sadly replied. "I did not
tell you of our trouble until
I was obliged to, dear Dorothy,
so the evil time is near at hand.
But if you are quite sure your
fairy friends will give you a
home, it will be best for you
to go to them, as your aunt says."
That was why Dorothy went to
her little room in the attic
that afternoon, taking with her
a small dog named Toto. The dog
had curly black hair and big
brown eyes and loved Dorothy
very dearly.
The child had kissed her uncle
and aunt affectionately before
she went upstairs, and now she
looked around her little room
rather wistfully, gazing at the
simple trinkets and worn calico
and gingham dresses, as if they
were old friends. She was tempted
at first to make a bundle of
them, yet she knew very well
that they would be of no use
to her in her future life.
She sat down upon a broken-backed
chair--the only one the room
contained--and holding Toto in
her arms waited patiently until
the clock struck four.
Then she made the secret signal
that had been agreed upon between
her and Ozma.
Uncle Henry and Aunt Em waited
downstairs. They were uneasy
and a good deal excited, for
this is a practical humdrum world,
and it seemed to them quite impossible
that their little niece could
vanish from her home and travel
instantly to fairyland.
So they watched the stairs,
which seemed to be the only way
that Dorothy could get out of
the farmhouse, and they watched
them a long time. They heard
the clock strike four but there
was no sound from above.
Half-past four came, and now
they were too impatient to wait
any longer. Softly, they crept
up the stairs to the door of
the little girl's room.
"Dorothy! Dorothy!" they
called.
There was no answer.
They opened the door and looked
in.
The room was empty.
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