"Who built these lovely bridges?" asked the little girl.

"No one built them," answered the man with the star. "They grow."

"That's queer," said she. "Did the glass houses in your city grow, too?"

"Of course," he replied. "But it took a good many years for them to
grow as large and fine as they are now. That is why we are so angry
when a Rain of Stones comes to break our towers and crack our roofs."

"Can't you mend them?" she enquired.

"No; but they will grow together again, in time, and we must wait
until they do."

They first passed through many beautiful gardens of flowers, which
grew nearest the city; but Dorothy could hardly tell what kind of
flowers they were, because the colors were constantly changing under
the shifting lights of the six suns. A flower would be pink one
second, white the next, then blue or yellow; and it was the same way
when they came to the plants, which had broad leaves and grew close to
the ground.

When they passed over a field of grass Jim immediately stretched down
his head and began to nibble.

"A nice country this is," he grumbled, "where a respectable horse has
to eat pink grass!"