Lyman Frank Baum

The Patchwork Girl of Oz Lyman Frank Baum

"Where's the butter, Unc Nunkie?" asked Ojo. Unc looked out of the window and stroked his long beard. Then he turned to the Munchkin boy and shook his head."Isn't," said he."Isn't any butter? That's too bad, Unc. Where's the jam then?" inquired Ojo, standing on a stool so he could look through all the shelves of the cupboard. But Unc Nunkie shook his head again."Gone," he said."No jam, either? And no cake-no jelly-no apples-nothing but bread?""All," said Unc, again stroking his beard as he gazed from the window. The little boy brought the stool and sat beside his uncle, munching the dry bread slowly and seeming in deep thought."Nothing grows in our yard but the bread tree," he mused, "and there are only two more loaves on that tree; and they're not ripe yet. Tell me, Unc; why are we so poor?"The old Munchkin turned and looked at Ojo. He had kindly eyes, but he hadn't smiled or laughed in so long that the boy had forgotten that Unc Nunkie could look any other way than solemn. And Unc never spoke any more words than he was obliged to, so his little nephew, who lived alone with him, had learned to understand a great deal from one word."Why are we so poor, Unc?" repeated the boy."Not," said the old Munchkin."I think we are," declared Ojo. "What have we got?""House," said Unc Nunkie."I know; but everyone in the Land of Oz has a place to live. What else, Unc?"