CHAPTER 12 Friend Oztrich Offers To Help They were half way across the sudsy lake before any of the Suds themselves appeared. Then a whole company of them rushed down to the shore. Peter waved his cap cheerfully and, redoubling his efforts with the soap bar, pushed their raft toward the opposite bank. “I’m afraid we’ve wasted a lot of time,” puffed Peter, as the raft slid in toward the beach. “Never mind,” grinned Scraps, “we’ve something new to talk about. I’m glad we met the Suds, Peter.” “Humph!” sniffed Grumpy, balancing himself carefully. “I’m glad they met us. Now they’ll have something new to talk about, something worth while.” Peter chuckled a little at this and, seizing Scraps’ hands, helped her to rise, for little waves were rippling aboard and he did not want the Patchwork Girl to fade or shrink. But without any accidents or spills the raft washed up on the beach and they all jumped off. “Do you think you still know which direction to take?” asked Peter anxiously. “Which direction to take, which direction to take, I lost my direction out there in the lake! We’ll have to start on and just trust to good luck; What kind of a desert is this we have struck?” Throwing up her arms, Scraps looked around in dismay. “A wilderness!” quavered the little bear, sitting down resignedly on a tree stump. Shading his eyes, Peter stared off in the distance. As far as he could see, there was nothing but a barren stretch of desert, with here and there a tree or jagged rock. “Let’s start toward that tall pine,” suggested Peter, pulling his cap down hard over his left eye and waving toward a pine tree just visible on the sky line. “If we keep walking we’re bound to come out somewhere, but I’m afraid we’ll never catch up with Ruggedo now.” “Maybe he’s lost, too,” said Grumpy, ambling along beside Scraps on all fours. [Illustration] “Yes, but he has a magic cloak to help him,” sighed Peter, “and all we have is an emerald we don’t know how to work.” “Which tree are we walking toward?” asked Scraps, blinking her suspender button eyes rapidly. “I don’t see any pine tree now, Peter.” “Neither do I,” growled Grumpy, rising up on his hind legs, and neither did Peter when he looked again. As he strained his eyes for a glimpse of the missing tree, all the stumps and stones around them began to change places as naturally as if it were quite the usual thing to do, while the sand beneath their feet began to slip and slide uncomfortably. “Wouldn’t this make your hair curl?” Breathing hard, Grumpy edged close to Scraps. As he did, a whole cluster of bushes jumped up and, seizing branches, danced madly about the three travellers. “Here we go ’round the mulberry bush--mulberry bush--mulberry bush!” chanted Scraps, putting her hands up to her eyes. “You mean, here they go ’round us!” mumbled Peter dizzily. “Stop! Stop! Go away, I never saw anything so silly.”