she is the queen of the wild men.”

The Poet had guessed correctly. The fat lady on the turtle was no other than Her Royal Highness, Queen Mooie, ruler of the wild men.

Chapter Six THE STORM

Before the sun had time to peep over the eastern hills the third morning, the little army was on the march. All day the soldiers tramped along, stopping every now and then to rest a few minutes beneath the shade of a friendly dandelion or burdock. All along the line of march many bugs, ants and birds gathered by the roadside to cheer the brave little army as it trudged by.

“General,” said the Turk, as he slid off the back of the airplane, “it looks to me as though we were going to have a storm and I would suggest that you lose no time in finding a dry place to house the army.”

“All right,” answered the General, “I’ll order the Indian to ride ahead and select a place to camp.”

Even as the General spoke, the little soldiers heard the distant rumble of thunder, and the Indian, putting spurs to his mouse, quickly bounded away in search of a camp. Presently he returned with the good news that he had found a fine place to weather the storm.

A hollow log had been selected for the camp and the little men soon pulled the cannon and army wagons into the dark hole. In a short time the storm broke with great fury and it was a mighty good thing that the little army was protected by the hollow log, for the burdock leaves under which the Teenie Weenies always sought shelter from the rain would have been a poor place in such a big storm. The poor mice who pulled the army wagons trembled in terror at the loud peals of thunder. The Dunce shook so much with fright he almost loosened the buttons of his uniform.

The storm passed quickly and the General ordered the army to be on its way, but the marching was hard and the men made slow progress, for the ground was muddy. The army marched around most of the mud holes, but one was too long and they were forced to wade through the thick mud. Most of the soldiers got over safely, but one of the wagons stuck in the mud and to make things worse, one of the back wheels was broken in trying to pull it out.

“This is a pretty pickle!” growled the Old Soldier, sliding off his mouse at the edge of the puddle. “We’ll have to work fast to get this wagon out before dark.”

“We might 

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