"Well, Scoots," bubbled the one called Flub Blub, rocking gently backward and forward on the water, "who won?" "I think it was a tie," answered Dorothy politely, "but why do you call us Scoots?" "Because your sails haven't grown," gurgled the riverman, taking a white bubble pipe from his mouth and smiling broadly at the little girl. "But don't mind, my dear. We must all be Scoots before we're Scooters. Just stick in the mud a little longer and your sails will grow as large as mine." "Dorothy's not a Scoot, she's a star," protested Humpy, "and I'm her double and do all the hard falling. Don't you know a star when you see one?" The Scooter turned his pale blue eyes curiously on Humpy. "You look about as much like her as a pumpkin looks like a peach," he observed mildly. "Why do you call yourself her double? And if she's a star what's she doing out now? It's only ten o'clock." At this all the other Scooters removed their pipes and nodded gravely. "Is she an out-and-out star, or a down-and-out star?" inquired Flub Blub, blowing a whole flock of soap bubbles from his pipe and watching them float lazily up the river. "I'm a Princess," put in Dorothy, seeing that everything was becoming hopelessly confused, "and we're on our way to the Emerald City." "A Princess!" exclaimed the Scooter in amazement. He took off his sou-wester and scratched his head in a puzzled way. Dorothy was so astonished to find that his hair was moss that she said nothing at all for a whole minute. "If you're a Princess, why are you so shabby?" choked a Scooter named Mouldy. "Don't mind him, he has a bad cold," apologized Flub, putting his hat on again. "He would go a picking daisies on the shore yesterday and got his feet dry. Now look at him!" The Scooter coughed miserably. "That's right," he wheezed, dabbing at his eyes with his right sail. "Never get your feet dry little Scoot, it's turrible!" At this Dorothy giggled in spite of herself. Then seeing the poor fellow was offended she asked quickly, "Is there any way we could cross this river, Mr. Mouldy?" "There's a bridge a bit further on," sniffed the Scooter, waving his sail sulkily. Following the direction, Dorothy saw what at first looked like a silver bridge. But on closer inspection it proved to be a great torrent of water spouting across the river like the stream from a giant hose. "But it's water!" gasped the little girl in dismay. "Of course it's water. What should a bridge be but water?" demanded the leader of the Scooters impatiently. "Just stand on one side and it will shoot you across." "How dreadfully wet," sighed the dummy dolefully, "but I'll cross if you will Dorothy."