"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 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.