bowing low;
"but whether I'm awake or dreaming I can't be positive, so I'm not sure
where I live. If you'll kindly pinch me I'll find out all about it!"

"You're awake," said Dorothy, "and this is no magician, but just the
Scarecrow."

"But he's alive," protested the man, "and he oughtn't to be, you know.
And that other dreadful person--the girl who is all patches--seems to
be alive, too."

"Very much so," declared Scraps, making a face at him. "But that isn't
your affair, you know."

"I've a right to be surprised, haven't I?" asked the man meekly.

"I'm not sure; but anyhow you've no right to say I'm dreadful. The
Scarecrow, who is a gentleman of great wisdom, thinks I'm beautiful,"
retorted Scraps.

"Never mind all that," said Dorothy. "Tell us, good Quadling, how we
can get across the river."

"I don't know," replied the Quadling.

"Don't you ever cross it?" asked the girl.

"Never."

"Don't travelers cross it?"

"Not to my knowledge," said he.

They were much surprised to hear this, and the man added: "It's a
pretty big river, and the current is strong. I know a man who lives on
the opposite bank, for I've seen him there a good many years; but we've
never spoken because neither of us has ever crossed over."

"That's queer," said the Scarecrow. "Don't you own a boat?"

The man shook his head.

"Nor a raft?"

"Where does this river go to?" asked Dorothy.

"That way," answered the man, pointing with one hand, "it goes into the
Country of the Winkies, which is ruled by the Tin Emperor, who must be
a mighty magician because he's all made of tin, and yet he's alive. And
that way," pointing with the other hand, "the river runs between two
mountains where dangerous people dwell."

The Scarecrow looked at the water before them.

"The current flows toward the Winkie Country," said he; "and so, if we
had a boat, or a raft, the river would float us there more quickly and
more easily than we could walk."

"That is true," agreed Dorothy; and then they all looked thoughtful and
wondered what could be done.

"Why can't the man make us a raft?" asked Ojo.

"Will you?" inquired Dorothy, turning to the Quadling.

The chubby man shook his head.

"I'm too lazy," he said. "My wife says I'm the laziest man in all Oz,
and she is a truthful woman. I hate work of any kind, and making a raft
is hard work."

"I'll give you my em'rald ring," promised the girl.

"No; I don't care for emeralds. If it were a ru