another leaf bent down and captured the Glass Cat,
rolling around the little creature until she was completely hidden, and
then straightening up again upon its stem.

"Look out," cried the Woozy. "Run! Run fast, or you are lost."

Ojo turned and saw the Woozy running swiftly up the road. But the last
leaf of the row of plants seized the beast even as he ran and instantly
he disappeared from sight.

The boy had no chance to escape. Half a dozen of the great leaves were
bending toward him from different directions and as he stood hesitating
one of them clutched him in its embrace. In a flash he was in the dark.
Then he felt himself gently lifted until he was swaying in the air,
with the folds of the leaf hugging him on all sides.

At first he struggled hard to escape, crying out in anger: "Let me go!
Let me go!" But neither struggles nor protests had any effect whatever.
The leaf held him firmly and he was a prisoner.

Then Ojo quieted himself and tried to think. Despair fell upon him when
he remembered that all his little party had been captured, even as he
was, and there was none to save them.

"I might have expected it," he sobbed, miserably. "I'm Ojo the Unlucky,
and something dreadful was sure to happen to me."

He pushed against the leaf that held him and found it to be soft, but
thick and firm. It was like a great bandage all around him and he found
it difficult to move his body or limbs in order to change their
position.

The minutes passed and became hours. Ojo wondered how long one could
live in such a condition and if the leaf would gradually sap his
strength and even his life, in order to feed itself. The little
Munchkin boy had never heard of any person dying in the Land of Oz, but
he knew one could suffer a great deal of pain. His greatest fear at
this time was that he would always remain imprisoned in the beautiful
leaf and never see the light of day again.

No sound came to him through the leaf; all around was intense silence.
Ojo wondered if Scraps had stopped screaming, or if the folds of the
leaf prevented his hearing her. By and by he thought he heard a
whistle, as of some one whistling a tune. Yes; it really must be some
one whistling, he decided, for he could follow the strains of a pretty
Munchkin melody that Unc Nunkie used to sing to him. The sounds were
low and sweet and, although they reached Ojo's ears very faintly, they
were clear and harmonious.

Could the leaf whistle, Ojo wonde