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“I would not be just a nothin’,
My head all full of stuffin’,
My heart all full of pain.
I would dance and be merry
Life would be a ding-a-derry
If I only had a brain!”
Night had fallen about an hour ago, and although the Scarecrow was not the least bit tired after walking the whole day, he remembered that he ought to check to see if Dorothy needed a break. Human creatures (and dog creatures) were not as indefatigable as straw men, as he had quickly learned, and he tried to be patient with his new friends and to be mindful of their limitations.
Dorothy held onto his arm, allowing him to guide her through the dark since he could see well in any light, and as soon as he turned his head to check on her, she began to yawn softly. (He was used to her yawning by now, and he thought it funny and rather sweet to hear.)
"Do you need to sleep again, Dorothy?" he asked, concerned. "Should we stop?"
She rubbed her eyes (which looked a nice brown even in the dim light, in the Scarecrow's opinion), and her brow furrowed as she scanned the dark shapes on the horizon.
"I don't see any farms where we can ask for shelter," she said, sounding a little anxious. "Do you see anywhere safe, Scarecrow?"
The Scarecrow squinted at the moonless landscape. The yellow-brick road threaded through a cluster of verdant hills and past two steep cliffs. He knew very little about shelter and houses, except for what he had learned from traveling with Dorothy through Munchkinland the past few days, but he had the vague notion that the black little hole in that rockface over there was what people called a cave, and caves might be useful places to make camp. He must have been right because Dorothy smiled when he told her and let out a soft sigh of relief.
They worked together to reach the cave, the Scarecrow guiding Dorothy through the dark while she kept him from tripping over holes in the brick road. They found their shelter to be shallow and dry, and Dorothy used one of the matches a Munchkin had given her the night before to check for any signs of predators or danger. (The Scarecrow kept a wide berth from the small flame until it extinguished.) Having nothing to build a proper fire with, Dorothy worked in the dark to share some of the buttered bread in her basket with Toto. With this done, she found the smoothest spot by the rock wall to lie down, and the little black dog settled beside her. (She still wore her ruby slippers, heeding the Good Witch of the North’s warning not to let them off her feet for a moment lest the Wicked Witch of the West steal them.) Within minutes both of their breathing slowed, and the Scarecrow could tell his companions had fallen asleep.
The Scarecrow sat with his back against the opposite wall and waited patiently for morning. Sleeping seemed such an inconvenience when somebody really wanted to get somewhere, but flesh-and-blood creatures grew miserable if they went too long without it, so their little party had to stop every night to rest. So far they would find shelter among the grateful Munchkins, and Dorothy would be shown a bed, and the Scarecrow was allowed to sit in the kitchen to wait for morning. The Scarecrow could have walked the entire way to the Emerald City without getting tired, but he would never have thought — even if he could think — of leaving Dorothy and Toto behind to go on by himself. Although he longed for the brain which he would be sure to find at their journey's end, he knew deep down he would enjoy it much better if he and Dorothy traveled together, so he endured the quiet nights with the patience of a strawman used to inactivity.
Truth be told, the Scarecrow rather liked his new friend. At eighteen, she had proven herself to be a brave, kind girl and quite clever to boot. She had helped him off that pole where he had been spending his days as a laughing stock for crows and with no one to talk to, and she had allowed him to come along with her to the Emerald City. As a traveling companion she was easy to get along with, and he thought her quite winsome and attentive. Of course, he did not have a brain, so he could not think, but his heart had decided to like this tender young woman, and so he did.
How funny it was to possess a heart and not a brain, he often reflected. He had not even known he had a heart until the Munchkin farmer who had made him had said so. The farmer had come along a few days after he had hung the Scarecrow on his pole, and the Scarecrow had apologized for not being able to frighten the crows away from the corn. The Munchkin farmer had sighed and told him not to worry about it.
"At least your heart is in the right place, son. Let me try to think of something else."
"Oh, do I have a heart?" he had asked, checking his chest, but he had found nothing beating inside.
"It's a metaphor," the farmer had said with a chuckle, and he had left before the Scarecrow could ask him what a metaphor was. Still, if the farmer said he had a heart, then the Scarecrow had no reason to doubt him. (After all, the farmer had a brain, so he probably knew what he was talking about.)
To have a brain, the Scarecrow was sure, would be even better than having a heart. Fools did not know what to do with hearts when they had one, and the Scarecrow certainly had no clue what to do with his. He supposed his heart was where he felt pain when the crows laughed at him or where he felt bored during the long hours guarding the cornfield. No, a brain was surely better than dealing with all that. The only good thing he could really say about his heart was that it allowed him to recognize a friend when he found one, and his heart certainly told him that Dorothy was a great friend to have.
The hours passed in silence save for a few soft stirrings from Dorothy or the murmur of the night breezes. By and by the shadows began to lighten, and the moonless sky grew pink, then a pale yellow. Then the sun peeked an eye over one of the green hills, and a beam of light touched Dorothy's pretty face. Her brow furrowed in response, and she drew in a sudden deep breath, and when the Scarecrow was sure that she was awake, he asked, "Are you ready to keep going?"
She made a tired sound and pushed herself up onto elbow. Instead of looking happy to greet the day, she gave a somber sigh.
"For a moment, I thought I was back in Kansas," she told him. "I almost expected Auntie Em to call me for breakfast."
Dorothy had told him a little about Kansas already: a dull, gray place full of farms, not at all beautiful like Oz, but the people Dorothy loved best lived there, and her heart would not be satisfied until she could be with them again.
"Well, you'll see your aunt soon," the Scarecrow told her cheerfully. "Once we meet the Wizard, he'll send you back home in no time."
She nodded with a sad smile. "That's what I have to keep telling myself. It's better if you think about the good things."
He looked at her wistfully. "Must be nice to think."
She sat up, stretching, and she started to reach for her basket to fish out some breakfast for herself, but she suddenly let out a little laugh. Toto still slumbered beside her, and his furry legs twitched in a strange manner, and his little face contorted as if he were trying to bark at something but had forgotten how. This seemed to please Dorothy.
"Toto must be dreaming he's chasing something," she guessed. "I almost don't want to wake him."
The Scarecrow tilted his burlap head. "What's 'dreaming'?"
"Oh, right," she said with sympathy. "You wouldn't know about dreams, would you? Those happen when people fall asleep. They see pictures and things, and you think you're awake, but it's all in your head."
"In your head?" he repeated, intrigued. "Like with a brain?"
"Why, yes," she smiled. "You need a brain to have a good dream." She pointed to Toto's twitching feet. "Toto probably thinks he's running after the chickens on our farm. He must be enjoying himself."
"I suppose any dog would," replied the Scarecrow. (He actually knew nothing about dogs, having never seen one before Toto, but if Dorothy said they enjoyed dreams about chasing chickens, she must have been right. After all, Dorothy had a brain.)
"But," she added, "I'm sure he'd rather chase real chickens back home, so we'd better get going."
She ran a gentle hand along the little dog's black fur, and after the fourth stroke, Toto's feet stopped twitching, and he opened his eyes. He sat up, blinking as if he was surprised to find himself in a small cave instead of whatever lovely dream world that had held him, but he wagged his tail when Dorothy offered him a bit of her bread. Once they had both eaten, Dorothy gathered her things into her basket, and Toto trotted after her out of the cave. The Scarecrow had nothing of his own to gather, so he stood as well and followed his two friends back to the yellow-brick road, which glinted in the early sunshine.
They paused to take stock of their surroundings. Round, grassy hills with rocky sides rippled the green land before them, and even without a telescope it was plain that their road threaded around much of the difficult terrain. There were less Munchkin farms in this area and not as many fruit trees, and the Emerald City was still nowhere in sight.
"But the sooner we go on, the sooner we'll get there," the Scarecrow said cheerfully.
Dorothy smiled. "That's a simple way of putting it."
"Certainly! That's the only kind of way I can put things," he returned. "If it requires brains to say something, I wouldn't be the one to say it."
They linked arms and continued on their way, with Dorothy helping the Scarecrow to right himself whenever he tripped or sank down on his straw-filled legs. Toto trotted along their heels, sometimes scampering ahead to bark at little creatures that ventured onto the road. Seeing him run after them reminded the Scarecrow of what Dorothy had said about dogs having dreams, and he asked her about it.
"How can you know for sure that Toto dreams about chickens?"
"I don't suppose you really can," she mused, "but it's not too hard to imagine that dogs dream about something. Animals seem to dream almost as much as people do."
That was quite a new thought, and he wished he had a brain so that he could properly ponder it.
"Can you only see dreams during sleep?" he inquired. "Could somebody with a brain dream even when he's awake?"
"People do it all the time," Dorothy answered brightly. "It's called a daydream."
"Daydream," he repeated, growing more and more fascinated. "A dream during the day?"
"Oh, you can daydream any time, even at night, as long as you're awake," she clarified.
That sounded delightfully convenient. "Are daydreams as good as the other kind?"
"I think they're even better," she said with a thoughtful expression. "When you're asleep, you can't control how the dream goes, and sometimes it becomes bad, but when you daydream, you can make it about anything. You could pretend you're a pirate or a king, or you could pretend you're on the moon or living under the sea. It's awful fun once you know how to do it."
"Do you do it often?"
"More than I probably should," she laughed. "Auntie Em says I'm a dreamer like my mother was, but I can't help it. You read such beautiful things in books, and then you want to think about them all day long."
"That must be nice," he said with a wistful smile. "After I get a brain, I can daydream while everyone is asleep instead of having nothing to think about the whole night. It'll make it easier to watch the cornfield that way."
She looked surprised. "Oh, are you going to return to the farm after you see the Wizard then?"
"I don't see where else I could go," he pointed out. "I have nobody else in this world but the Munchkin farmer, and he'll have to make a brand new scarecrow if I don't go back, and that scarecrow will have no brains either."
She nodded slowly. "I guess you could say he's your family, huh?"
The Scarecrow was unfamiliar with that word, and she explained that a family was what she had with Auntie Em and Uncle Henry and Toto, where they all loved each other and lived in a house together on a farm that had pigs and chickens, and they had three workers who lived in a bunkhouse and who were "almost family" to her. The Scarecrow wanted to know about "almost families" too, and he learned that Zeke was brave and always encouraged Dorothy to stand up for herself, and that Hickory worked on machines and coaxed her to be compassionate towards people, and that Hunk was one of the smartest people she knew and that he planned to go to college once the planting season was over and that she really hoped he would write to them because she would miss him when he was so far, far away.
"Of course, he already is far, far away," she reflected, her dark eyes dimming. "Or at least, I am. Uncle Henry and everyone else must be searching all over the county for me, but they have no idea that I'm way out here."
She gazed ahead at the long ribbon of yellow road that stretched for miles across the hilly land, and she suddenly reached into her basket and withdrew a handkerchief, which she dabbed against her eyes. Although the Scarecrow did not put much stock in listening to his heart, he was sure it told him it would be a good thing to pat her shoulder right then, and so he did.
"Don't think about it, Dorothy," he advised kindly. "Soon you'll be with the Wizard and on your way home."
She sniffed and formed a watery smile. "Yes, you're right. It's smarter not to think about it right now."
"Not smart at all if I came up with it," he pointed out.
"But I'm glad you said it anyway, Scarecrow," she answered, and the appreciative look she gave him made him feel a little less brainless (but of course he had no brain, so how could he be any less brainless?)
"Now then, will you tell me more about this college thing?" he asked, eager to shift her attention to happier topics. "Is that what people with brains do?"
"That's why Hunk wants to go." She then proceeded to talk a lot about Hunk and how he wanted to attend college in order to make something of himself. "You can't help admiring a fella like that," she added, and from the light in her eye, the Scarecrow thought she admired this Hunk a great deal.
"Because he has a brain," he said to himself, which only re-enforced his longing to have one of his own. He quickened his unsteady gait so fast that he did not see a gap in the brick road, and he tripped, obliging Dorothy to help him back to his feet. He tripped several more times after that, but they continued on in a comfortable silence.
The road went further on than the Scarecrow could have imagined (not that he had expected to imagine much without a brain), and the journey gave him plenty of time to think (if he had been able to think). He considered again what Dorothy had told him about daydreams, and he wondered what they were like. Then he wondered what sort of things Dorothy daydreamed about and what sort of things he would daydream about, once he had a brain. He could picture the two of them in his cornfield, daydreaming the hours away. When the crows came to laugh at him, he would use his clever brain to scare them off, and Dorothy would think he was a smart man. Then perhaps he would go to college and use his brain, and when he came back, Dorothy would admire him the way she admired that Hunk fellow.
The imagery cheered him right through, but a sudden recollection poured cold water on his good mood. If the Wizard succeeded in giving him a brain, then he more than likely would succeed in sending Dorothy home to her Kansas, and they would probably never see each other again. He would have a marvelous brain, but he would have no Dorothy to admire him for it.
"On the other hand," he considered, "what if the Wizard only knows how to give strawmen brains but not how to send Dorothies to Kansas? If she can't go home, I'm sure the Munchkin farmer would let her come live in my cornfield. A scarecrow with a brain would be smart enough to take care of her."
But as much as he liked the notion of having Dorothy with him, something in his heart told him that she would not be happy until she returned to her family. (And she probably wanted to return to her "almost family" too, which meant Zeke, Hickory, and, of course, Hunk.)
"Maybe her uncle needs a scarecrow," he pondered, and he grew so absorbed with picturing himself in far-off Kansas that he did not realize Dorothy had started talking to him until she touched his shoulder.
"Scarecrow?" she pressed, peering into his cloth face.
He blinked at her. "Pardon?"
She smiled, giving a little shake of her head. "Your mind must have wandered."
"I don't have a mind to let wander," he reminded her.
"I meant you weren't paying attention."
"Well, yes," he agreed cheerfully. "It's easy to become thoughtless when you don't have a brain. Now, what did you say?"
"I asked if you could help me keep an eye out for anything that I can eat," she returned. "It looks like we're coming up to a big forest, and all I have left is a little of the candy that the Lollipop Guild gave me back in Munchkinland. That probably won't last me all the way to Emerald City."
"Ah," said the Scarecrow with self-reproach, "if I had thought of it, I could have told you to ask for a bigger basket at the last farm so that you could carry more food."
Dorothy looked surprised. "My, I should have thought of that too! But it's okay, Scarecrow," she assured him. "Maybe if we find another farm, we can ask then."
"Doesn't look like there are any this far out," he said with a sigh. "And I would have known that if I already had a brain. There sure is a lot that I don't know."
She took his arm, wearing a kind smile. "Don't feel bad, Scarecrow. Hunk says smart people will spend their whole lives learning, so even people with brains don't know everything."
He had trouble imagining that (but then again, he had no brain, so he could not really imagine anything, now could he?) Even so, the gentle look in her eye made him feel a lot better, and her tender hand on his arm made him stand a little taller, and his heart felt quite glad indeed.
How quickly their traveling party changed! If the Scarecrow had possessed a brain, he might have thought it was odd to start the morning as a straw man and a girl with her dog and to end the day with a Tin Man and a Cowardly Lion, but his heart — although not as clever or as valuable to him as a brain would be — decided he liked these new friends, even though gaining the Tin Man had brought on the cruel attention of the Wicked Witch of the West and the Cowardly Lion had been ready to fight them when they first met. They seemed like they would be good company in the long run.
"And safety in numbers," the Scarecrow reasoned cheerfully. (Since it was the sort of thing anyone would know, of course he knew it.)
They traveled as far as they could through the woods; the yellow-brick road was visible even in the shadows, if in disrepair from limited use, but eventually Dorothy, the Lion and Toto had to stop for the night. They made their camp beneath a large tree just to the side of the road. While the Lion went off into the woods to hunt for his dinner, the Tin Man used his axe to cut up wood, and Dorothy used her matches to light a bright fire, and she seemed to be cheered by its warmth and light.
The Scarecrow did not find it nearly so comforting, so he withdrew from the fire, and he happened to see a nut tree nearby. He borrowed Dorothy's basket and busied himself with filling it up with nuts so that she would not go hungry before they reached the Emerald City. Since his hands were merely gloves stuffed with straw, he had some difficulty in grabbing the tiny things, but by the time the fire had grown low, he had a nice collection for her.
"Thank you, Scarecrow," Dorothy beamed when he finally handed the basket back. "That was very thoughtful of you."
He had been eyeing the glowing embers with unease, but the friendly affection in her face and voice made his smile broadened, and something in his heart decided that seeing her happy was worth enduring a hundred campfires. When Dorothy was ready to sleep, the Scarecrow covered her with dry leaves to keep her comfortable, which she thanked him for, and he retreated to a small boulder where the Tin Man sat guard with his axe.
"Rather nice of you to do that for her," the Tin Man complimented in a soft tone, gesturing toward the resting girl. "If I already had a heart, it would have guided me to do something so kind."
"Aw, that's only because I've known her longer," the Scarecrow reminded him. "On my own, I'm not that clever."
The Tin Man nodded slowly. "I thought you two seemed pretty close."
One by one Dorothy and the two animals dozed off, and the Scarecrow intently studied them to see if they were dreaming. Dorothy and Toto did not move much, but after an hour or so the Lion began to whimper. The Tin Man stood and crept over to him, giving him a little shake. The Lion jerked his head up with a gasp, looking around wildly, and the Tin Man told him kindly, "It was just a dream. Don't worry."
"Oh, good," sighed the Lion, and he lowered his head again. Before the Tin Man returned to the boulder, he was asleep.
"Poor guy," said the Tin Man softly. "He said he hadn't slept in weeks because he's been too scared, so no wonder his first dream was a nightmare."
"He sure got back to sleep really quick," observed the Scarecrow in the same low tone.
"Well, he is a cat," the Tin Man pointed out as he sat back down. "They can fall asleep anywhere."
The Scarecrow nodded, considering that. (He actually knew less about cats than he did about dogs, but the Tin Man sounded like he knew what he was talking about.) Then he asked, "How did you know what to do?"
"My mother used to do that when I was a child," he replied with a nostalgic smile. "Whenever she heard me having a bad dream, she'd come into my room and wake me up."
The Scarecrow spun around, nearly tumbling off the boulder. "You can dream?"
"Not anymore," he sighed. "I lost that ability when my head became tin."
The Scarecrow sat up. "You don't have a brain, do you?"
"I had one, a long time ago," the Tin Man returned. "When I did, I dreamt every night like any other man."
The Scarecrow could not help feeling a little awe.
"If you know what it's like to have a brain, why are you going to ask the Wizard for a heart instead?" he asked. "A brain is ten times better than a heart. A brain lets you daydream even if you can't sleep."
"But you need a heart to get the very best daydreams, Scarecrow."
"What do you mean?"
The Tin Man adjusted his hold on his axe, and in the dark it seemed he looked toward Dorothy for a moment or two.
"Any man with a brain can think about his own wants and desires, and soon he becomes selfish," he declared at length, still in that hushed tone to avoid waking their companions. "A heart lets you get your mind off yourself and onto others. It helps you think of little surprises to please the ones who matter most to you, and it helps you build a future with the woman you love."
"A man with a brain can think of all that too," the Scarecrow answered defensively.
"Not as well as a man with a heart," returned the Tin Man. "With a heart you can love, and once you love, your daydreams start to include wonderful things, like warm hands clasped in yours and a pretty head resting against your shoulder" — and he let out a nostalgic sigh. "Those were some of the best daydreams I ever knew."
The Scarecrow blinked, and in a flash he remembered the pictures he had entertained that morning, where he brought Dorothy back to his cornfield if she could not return to Kansas. He had the strangest feeling that it was relevant to their conversation, but he could not be completely sure.
"I have a heart," he blurted out.
The Tin Man's head snapped toward him with a creak. "How could you?"
"The farmer who made me said I have one," the Scarecrow told him, "but I'd much rather have a brain. I don't seem to have much use for a heart without one."
The Tin Man uttered a soft little sound, almost like he was disgusted, but as he had no heart, it was hard to tell what he really felt.
"Well," he said, sounding as though he was holding onto his patience, "if you were ever to meet a lady scarecrow or some rag-doll creature, you'd be glad to have a heart, and then you'd understand why I want one so dearly."
"I don't see what that has to do with anything."
The Tin Man's joints clanked as he adjusted his weight on the boulder.
"A long time ago," he began, "back when I had both a brain and a heart, I had been in love with a Munchkin girl and wanted to marry her. Bit by bit my body became all tin. I lost my brain, and soon after that I lost my heart. I could love my bride just fine without a brain, but I could not love her without a heart. When we loved each other, I was at my happiest."
The Scarecrow thought it over (or at least he tried to). Though he disagreed with the Tin Man's logic, he could not properly refute it without a brain, and he decided it would be better to drop the argument for the present.
Even so, he could not completely change subjects because the Tin Man had used a word he was unfamiliar with: "What does 'marry' mean?"
The Tin Man's voice grew wistful and somber. "When two people pledge to share their lives together, no matter how tough things get, and then they stay together, giving their love to no one else. It takes a heart to let a man care for a wife for the rest of his days. That's why I need one."
The Scarecrow was not sure if he completely understood it, but it sounded nice, rather like how Dorothy described daydreams. He remembered that the Munchkin farmer who made him had brought a woman with him once who he called his wife, but at the time the Scarecrow had thought that a "wife" meant "very close friend," and he told the Tin Man this.
"You were right, in a way," said the Tin Man. "A man's wife ought to be his best friend."
"And what do people do after they get married!"
"Build a home together, of course. Usually, a family follows."
The Scarecrow raised his head, interested. "Where do 'almost families' come in?"
"Pardon?"
The Scarecrow quickly shared what Dorothy had told him about her loved ones in Kansas, and the Tin Man seemed intrigued with them as well.
"That Hickory fellow sounds like he knows how to use his heart," he observed with admiration.
"And Hunk has a brain," added the Scarecrow. He seemed to keep coming back to that point more than any other. "It might be nice to be in someone's 'almost family,' don't you think?"
"I'd rather just have a family," said the Tin Man, "with a wife of my own and some children. A man with a heart could take in orphans and raise them with love."
"I wonder how you get a wife in the first place."
"Once I have a heart, I'll be able to explain it."
"Once I have a brain, I'll be able to understand it." A fresh question occurred to the Scarecrow. "After you get your heart, will you marry your Munchkin maid?"
"I doubt it." The Tin Man uttered a soft groan. "I've been so long without the ability to love. Another man could have come along and married her by now."
The Scarecrow recognized the note of pain in his voice; it was a lot like what his heart felt whenever he longed for a brain and the better life it would give him. (Of course the Tin Man did not have a heart to hurt him with unfulfilled desires, but the Scarecrow felt empathy toward him anyway.)
"Maybe she didn't get married," he offered helpfully. "She could be waiting for you to go back to her."
"I gave her no reason to wait," his friend answered miserably, "and she is so beautiful and sweet. Any man with sense would see how wonderful she was and marry her on the spot."
That caught the Scarecrow's attention: a man with sense could see if a girl was worth marrying?
He wondered if that was why Dorothy admired Hunk, because he was a man with sense who saw her worth. Hunk certainly had a brain, and he must have had a heart. The Scarecrow already had the second one (as much as he disliked it), and once he had the first, Dorothy might begin to admire him too.
He should have probably asked his next question with more tact, but he blurted out, "If a man had sense, would he see that Dorothy was beautiful and sweet as well?"
The Tin Man blinked his metal eyes, then turned to gaze at the slumbering young woman. Something like a sad sniff came from him, and the Scarecrow wondered if he was on the verge of tears.
"I think any man would find Dorothy wonderful," he answered in a softer tone, "but even someone without a heart knows that it will be a sad thing when she finally goes back to Kansas."
The Scarecrow turned away, not wanting to think about that. (Of course, he could not think, but that did not stop his heart from having a tight sort of feeling, which he tried to ignore.)
When the Wizard passed him the pristine white diploma with a beautiful red ribbon, it was as though light had finally dawned. Thoughts came into his mind in rapid succession — half-forgotten knowledge came rushing back, and things made sense — and at last he felt like a complete man.
"For someone who calls himself a humbug, you sure did a great job, sir," he told the Wizard respectfully that night while he and his companions sat around a table in the great palace.
"At least I can do a few amazing things in my life," said the Wizard in a mysterious, almost amused tone, "even if I didn't actually do much."
"You did more than even my brain can describe!" declared the Scarecrow.
"Or my heart can express!" grinned the Tin Man, clutching his heart-shaped pocket watch hanging in his chest.
"And you helped us even when we were ready to let you have it," chimed in the Lion, stroking the shining medal on his chest. "That took courage."
"That's all in the past now, gentlemen," said the Wizard, waving his hand. "We have important things to discuss now."
The Wizard might not have been able to send Dorothy back to Kansas with any magical trick, but he had the idea to use the very air balloon that had brought him into Oz to take them both back to their homeland, and this required careful attention to detail. Food and other provisions needed to be procured, and the Wizard had to do so without anyone in the Emerald City learning that the Wizard had no real plan to return. Most astonishingly of all, the Wizard had decided that since the Scarecrow had proven himself to be a wise man, he would be the one to rule in his place, and the Tin Man and the Lion would use their great talents to assist him.
"I can't return to the Munchkin farmer then, I suppose," the Scarecrow observed. (Now that he had a brain, he could suppose a great many things.) "I hope he won't mind."
"I'm sure he'd be proud of you," Dorothy assured him, turning in her chair to pat his arm. "You'll do a lot more good running a kingdom than guarding a little cornfield."
Her confidence gave him a light, funny feeling in his straw-filled chest, and he sat up straighter.
"At least now I am like other men," he declared, tapping his head with emphasis. "I am worth something at last."
Dorothy raised her dark eyes to meet his glittering gaze. "But I always thought you were special even before you had a brain."
Something stirred in his heart again, and he dipped into a sweeping bow. "You are very kind to like a Scarecrow, Dorothy, but you'll like me much better once you hear all the ideas I can think of!"
He would have told her some of them right then, but the Wizard took charge of the meeting once more, listing all the things that would have to be done for the long trip. The Wizard also needed at least four days to "ensure a peaceful transition of power" for the Scarecrow and his friends to rule Oz before he and Dorothy would make their departure. (With his new brain, the Scarecrow was able to understand that the Wizard wanted to make sure that his subjects would accept the Scarecrow as their new king and not revolt against him.)
The days passed in a blur, with the four friends helping the Wizard with his preparations wherever they could. At night the two humans and the Lion had to sleep, and so the Scarecrow and the Tin Man continued tirelessly until the wee hours in the morning.
When he had any free time, the Scarecrow often sought out Dorothy to tell her about a new thing he had learned or a new idea that had occurred to him, but what he most enjoyed talking about were his daydreams. He had one at least every hour, and he enjoyed getting lost in them.
"It's like it's really real, isn't it?" he grinned as they walked through the palace gardens one evening. "I could be here one minute, and then suddenly I'm on the yellow-brick road with you all over again, and we're having a wonderful time. Or I see us together in the old cornfield, and the crows all bow to us because they know I have a brain. I could do this forever!"
"Well, you wouldn't want to daydream all the time," she reminded him. "The real world needs your clever brain now."
"But in my daydreams, everything is exactly as I want it," he countered, "and you and I are always happy."
Her hold on his arm tightened gently, but before she could reply, they were summoned by the Wizard and had to go back to the preparations.
On the night before the great departure, a strange, restless atmosphere seemed to come over the palace, as if the very walls knew a great change was coming. The Tin Man had to carry a towel to keep himself from rusting whenever he wept, and the Lion paced the halls like a caged animal before he retired early, as though trying to find solace in sleep.
The Scarecrow almost wished he could sleep himself, but he could at least daydream now. As the palace grew quiet, he slipped away to find a solitary place to think, and his journey took him to one of the upper levels of the Wizard's private rooms. Although most of the buildings in the Emerald City looked like glinting, green domes, this part of the palace had a balcony, which its soon-to-be previous occupant had used from time to time to observe his subjects from a safe distance. The Scarecrow had found it quickly the first day he had been given leave to explore the palace by himself, and he stood now watching the preparations in the square below.
A team of green-clad workers had brought out the big air balloon, newly mended, and they had set up the basket on a beautiful dais. While some of the workers loaded the basket with the supplies which the Wizard had assembled, others checked and rechecked the silk balloon for any rips that might have been overlooked.
The sight of the balloon filled the Scarecrow’s brain with a lot of troubling thoughts, and in order to feel better, he decided to apply his mind to puzzling out solutions. He grew so focused on so many different images — some pleasant, some less so — that he jumped high when a hand touched his padded shoulder. He spun around, almost falling, but his surprise melted into delight when he spotted Dorothy beside him.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she apologized, pushing back a strand of her brunette hair. She still wore her hair down in that pretty, wavy style which the Emerald City beauticians had given her on their first day in the Emerald City, which was just as nice as her pigtails had been.
"Oh, I'm fine," he assured her. "Just thinking."
She smiled. "Have you been letting your mind wander?"
"Well, now that I have a mind, I should give it plenty of exercise, shouldn't I?" he reasoned with a broad grin. "If I let it wander and play, my brain will become stronger and stronger."
"I never thought of it that way."
"And I never thought of it either, before I had a brain! But I wonder how far I should let it wander" — a little anxious. "It's such a new brain, and it might not know how to come back, or it might decide it likes another scarecrow better. I don't know what I'd do then."
She laughed. "I don't think you're in any danger of losing your mind, Scarecrow. The Wizard wouldn't have given you a diploma if he thought you wouldn't take care of your brain."
He nodded slowly, seeing her logic. "Yes, I suppose that's true."
Her pretty smile widened. "So, were you having a good daydream just now?"
"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed, his burlap face brightening. "Just wait until I tell you about them! Many have involved you."
"Me?"
"C'mon! Just listen!" he beamed, taking her hands.
He guided her over to a small bench on the balcony, nearly slipping on the smooth emerald flooring in his excitement.
"Here is one of my daydreams," he began as he settled beside her. "I saw myself using my new brain to organize all the builders and workers in Oz to make a long bridge that goes all the way to Kansas. Once it's ready, we'd be able to come and go as we please, and we'd never have to say goodbye."
Her bright, curious expression faded as he spoke, and she bit her lip.
"Well, Scarecrow, that's a nice thought," she agreed, "but Kansas is too far away for a bridge. It's a landlocked state anyhow."
"Is it?" His face fell, but he quickly smiled again. "But that was only one of my daydreams. In another daydream we built a huge tunnel that connected our land to yours, and you'd be able to come visit us whenever you pleased. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"But it takes a long time to build a normal-sized tunnel," she countered, growing more somber. "By the time you finished a tunnel of that size, I'd be an old woman."
"Oh." A strange ache arose in the area where he often suspected his heart to be, but he ignored it. (Now that he had a brain, he did not need to pay so much attention to any heart.) "Well, I had a really clever daydream too. Just hear."
He reached for her hands again and clasped them tightly.
"Instead of sending you home to Kansas, we can bring Kansas here to Oz!" he exclaimed. "Your aunt and uncle can have their own rooms inside my palace, and you can live here too, and we'd be able to see each other every day. We could also make room for your 'almost family' to live here with you. At least most of them. Definitely two of them."
He hoped she would see how clever his idea was. It was the best solution of them all, one that allowed her to be near her loved ones (and allowed him to be near her), but her eyes remained grave.
"It's a wonderful daydream, Scarecrow," she said soberly, "but I don't know if Auntie Em and Uncle Henry would be willing to leave. Our farm has been in our family for years, and Uncle Henry wouldn't want to part with it if he didn't have to, and Auntie Em…" She looked down. "If she's very sick, she might not be able to make the trip at all."
"Oh." He released her hands. "I should have thought of that."
"It was very beautiful anyhow," she told him gently, touching his arm.
He turned away. "But not very clever."
"Thank you for trying all the same. If things were different…" She stopped abruptly and looked down at her lap. "Well… I suppose I should get some sleep. It'll be a long trip to Kansas tomorrow."
He nodded silently. She patted his hand and stood, and the ruby slippers sparkled as she walked away. He watched her go, aware that the ache in his chest had increased, and he could not think of a way to get rid of it. He pulled the brim of his steeple hat over his eyes, trying to come up with something incredibly clever that would solve all of his problems, but each scheme seemed sillier than the last.
Clanking footsteps drew him out of his troubling thoughts, and he looked up to see the Tin Man sauntering toward him.
"Seems like nearly everyone in the palace is getting ready for bed," he commented, jabbing a metal thumb over his shoulder. "Since neither of us sleep, I thought I might join you. Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
With a few more clanks, the Tin Man sat beside him. His red, heart-shaped watch in his chest gleamed a ruby in the lamp light, and he held a cloth which he used to give it yet another polish. As he worked, he said mildly, "I couldn't help overhearing a little of what you said to Dorothy just now."
The Scarecrow sat up, startled. "Which part?"
"Only a word here and there," the Tin Man assured him. "I heard something about how you’re able to daydream. Is that true?"
He nodded.
"Congratulations," smiled his friend, but he seemed to be studying him. "How do you like it?"
"Some dreams are nicer than others," said the Scarecrow woodenly.
The Tin Man ran the cloth over his heart a few more times.
"Which daydreams do you like better?" he asked in a soft tone. "The ones from your brain or the ones from your heart?"
"The brain, most definitely," he insisted, more stoutly than he had intended. "What use are the ones from my heart when I know they'll never come true?"
"Something which men throughout history have wondered," said the Tin Man. He laid a hand over his ticking heart and closed his eyes. "It seems so unfair, having a heart again only to have it hurt so much."
The Scarecrow nodded.
"But," the Tin Man continued, blinking his misting eyes, "my heart tells me that if we really care about Dorothy, we need to do what will make her happy, even if it means saying goodbye."
The Scarecrow grimaced. "I think… I think my heart has been telling me the same thing."
The Tin Man formed a somber smile. "You truly are wise, Scarecrow. Listening to both your brain and your heart."
They fell into silence for some time, and after a while they both noticed that the bustling down in the square had lessened. The Tin Man stood, clutching his heart, and went to peer over the balcony.
"Looks like they've finished everything down there," he announced with an air of dirge. "Nothing to keep Dorothy and the Wizard from leaving in the morning."
The Scarecrow nodded again.
The Tin Man pivoted away, squeezing his eyes shut. "If I keep thinking about it, I'll start to cry. I don't want to rust before Dorothy leaves."
Clanking his way across the emerald floor, he headed back inside. After a pause, the Scarecrow rose to follow. Although he had a fine brain now, one question was too great for his mind to handle by itself right then: "Do you think we'll ever see Dorothy again?"
The Tin Man slowed and heaved a sigh that must have come straight from his heart. "We can dream, my friend."
"Yes," agreed the Scarecrow, looking over his shoulder at the balcony, "I most certainly can dream now."
And so he did.
THE END