Yes, he tried to crow, but all the noise he could make was a sort of a gasp and a sigh and a cough and a splutter and a sneeze and choke and a whimper.

“Ha!  Aha!  Ahem!  Ha!  Ha!  Ho!  Ho I will now swim” cried the rooster, and then the water got so deep that he couldn’t wade any more, and he had to float.  He struck out with his feet, and tried to paddle just as he saw Lulu and Alice and Jimmie doing, but a very funny thing happened.

The rooster went right around in a circle, for he only used one leg at a time.  Then he got dizzy, and went around the other way.  Then he had to stop.  Next he flapped his wings and splashed the water all over.

Say, I wish you could have seen him.  It was as good as a circus!  He got his tail all wet, and his back got all wet, and, as his feathers weren’t the kind that water runs off from, he was soon as soaked as your umbrella ever was.  That made him heavy and he began to sink.  Oh, how he splashed and spluttered around in that pond!  He couldn’t swim any more than my typewriter can, and, all at once, what do you suppose happened?

Why, he felt himself sinking more and more and more.  Oh, it was terrible!

“Save me!  Oh, save me!” Mr. Doodle cried.  “I am going down!  Help me, please!  Help!  Help!  Help!”

Then the duck children felt sorry, and swam to him as fast as they could.  Each one took hold of that poor rooster; Lulu and Alice by a wing, and Jimmie by the rooster’s tail, and they towed him to shore.  Oh, but he was a sorry looking sight!  He couldn’t even crow, nor flap his wings.

“I thought you said you could swim,” spoke Jimmie.

“Hush!” begged Alice, who was very kind-hearted.  “Don’t be casting up!  Don’t make him feel bad.”

“Oh, I feel bad enough without that,” said Mr. Doodle, sighing.  “I guess the water wasn’t right for swimming to-day,” and with that he walked off, and hid himself in some leaves, to get dry, for he hadn’t any towels at his house.  But the Wibblewobble children kept on swimming, for they knew how; and now, let me see; well, how about a story of an enchanted castle for to-morrow night; eh? that is if the scissors don’t cut up too much.

STORY XI

ALICE WIBBLEWOBBLE’S ENCHANTED CASTLE

Alice Wibblewobble had made up her mind to find out more about the fairy prince.  She couldn’t believe he was only a mud turtle.  She felt sure he was merely in that form until some one came along, pronounced the magical words, or sprinkled the magical water on him, or did something else, to change him back again.

“I think I will have another talk with him,” she said.  “Perhaps, if I go all alone, he will tell me what to do.  Oh, wouldn’t it be perfectly lovely if I could change him into a king with a golden-diamond-ruby crown.  Yes, I certainly shall go.”

So Alice swam off up the pond, in the direction the gold fish had once led Lulu and Jimmie and her.