"What shall I tell you? Aladdin? Puss in Boots? Cin—"
"Soogar Wiver" interrupted Tot, promptly.
"Soogar Wiver? Why, what a little pitcher for ears! What do you know about Soogar Wiver?"
"Oo said," said Tot, with decision, "that oo went fisin' in Soogar Wiver."
"Why, so I did," said the boy, reflectively.
"Is it vewy sweet?" asked Tot.
"Sweet?" echoed the boy, taking his wicked cue and with a prolonged drawing in of the lips. "I should say so! Why, its bed is solid sugar, with as many grades of sugar grains for sand as one finds in a grocer shop."
"Do wivers do to bed dus 'ike 'ittle dirls?" demanded Tot, whose young existence was embittered by that seemingly needless ceremony.
"You see," said the boy, with the air of communi
cating much useful information, "it is even worse than that. They never get up at all. Only once in a while they get into tantrums and break loose and make every one scatter; for a river is one of the quickest fellows at a run you ever saw. And well they might be, for they are at it all the time, asleep or awake."