"Wring me out! Hang me up to dry, somebody!" gurgled the straw man dismally.
"Grrr—rah!" The Cowardly Lion, outraged at the cold plunge after all the other shocks and indignities of the day, jumped over the hedge and began to swim grimly for the shore. The Soldier with Green Whiskers, better at carrying out orders than the others, already was pulling one of the flying sticks from the hedge. As it came loose he took a brief glance over the top, gave an agonized shriek and fell backward, stepping all over the Wizard who was just behind him.
"An army!" shivered Wantowin, clutching his dripping beard—"Thou—sands of them!"
"It is an army, too!" echoed Jellia, who had parted the hedge to have a look for herself.
"What do they look like?" demanded the Wizard, shoving past the soldier and grabbing the winged staff which was on the point of flying off by itself.
"Like trouble!" said Jellia, reaching for Dorothy's hand. "They have long bows and pointed red beards and—my goodyness—their beards are pointed straight at us!"
"Bearded Bowmen, eh?" grunted the Wizard. "Well, that doesn't prove they're unfriendly." The Wizard stuck his head over the hedge, barely avoiding the arrow that sped past his ear.
"I suppose you'd call THAT friendly," sniffed Jellia, flopping on her stomach and pulling Dorothy down with her. The Wizard had no time to answer, for Wantowin Battles had one of the winged staffs and was preparing to ride by himself.
"Drop it! Drop it at once!" commanded the Wizard sharply. "How dare you fly off without us? Why it's plain desertion, that's what!"