"Now," said Dorothy, as they stood on the mountain path, having left behind them the cave in which dwelt the Hoppers and the Horners, "I think we must find a road into the Country of the Winkies, for there is where Ojo wants to go next."  
"Is there such a road?" asked the Scarecrow.
 
"I don't know," she replied. "I s'pose we can go back the way we came, to Jack Pumpkinhead's house, and then turn into the Winkie Country; but that seems like running 'round a haystack, doesn't it?"
 
"Yes," said the Scarecrow. "What is the next thing Ojo must get?"
 
"A yellow butterfly," answered the boy.
 
"That means the Winkie Country, all right, for it's the yellow country of Oz," remarked Dorothy. "I think, Scarecrow, we ought to take him to the Tin Woodman, for he's the Emp'ror of the Winkies and will help us to find what Ojo wants."
 
"Of course," replied the Scarecrow, brightening at the suggestion. "The Tin Woodman will do anything we ask him, for he's one of my dearest friends. I believe we can take a crosscut into his country and so get to his castle a day sooner than if we travel back the way we came."
 
"I think so, too," said the girl; "and that means we must keep to the left."
 
They were obliged to go down the mountain before they found any path that led in the direction they wanted to go, but among the tumbled rocks at the foot of the mountain was a faint trail which they decided to follow. Two or three hours walk along this trail brought them to a clear, level country, where there were a few farms and some scattered houses. But they knew they were still in the Country of the Quadlings, because everything had a bright red color. Not that the trees and grasses were red, but the fences and houses were painted that color and all the wild-flowers that bloomed by the wayside had red blossoms. This part of the Quadling Country seemed peaceful and prosperous, if rather lonely, and the road was more distinct and easier to follow.
 
But just as they were congratulating themselves upon the progress they had made they came upon a broad river which swept along between high banks, and here the road ended and there was no bridge of any sort to allow them to cross.
 
"This is queer," mused Dorothy, looking at the water reflectively. "Why should there be any road, if the river stops everyone walking along it?"
 
"Wow!" said Toto, gazing earnestly into her face.
 
"That's the best answer you'll get," declared the Scarecrow, with his comical smile, "for no one knows any more than Toto about this road."
 
Said Scraps:
 
"Ev'ry time I see a river,
I have chills that make me shiver,
For I never can forget
All the water's very wet.
If my patches get a soak
It will be a sorry joke;
So to swim I'll never try
Till I find the water dry."
 
"Try to control yourself, Scraps," said Ojo; "you're getting crazy again. No one intends to swim that river."
 
"No," decided Dorothy, "we couldn't swim it if we tried. It's too big a river, and the water moves awful fast."
 
"There ought to be a ferryman with a boat," said the Scarecrow; "but I don't see any."
 
"Couldn't we make a raft?" suggested Ojo.
 
"There's nothing to make one of," answered Dorothy.
 
"Wow!" said Toto again, and Dorothy saw he was looking along the bank of the river.
 
"Why, he sees a house over there!" cried the little girl. "I wonder we didn't notice it ourselves. Let's go and ask the people how to get 'cross the river."
 
A quarter of a mile along the bank stood a small, round house, painted bright red, and as it was on their side of the river they hurried toward it. A chubby little man, dressed all in red, came out to greet them, and with him were two children, also in red costumes. The man's eyes were big and staring as he examined the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl, and the children shyly hid behind him and peeked timidly at Toto.
 
"Do you live here, my good man?" asked the Scarecrow.
 
"I think I do, Most Mighty Magician," replied the Quadling, 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 ............