assembled crowd, “I have terrible news! The Lady of Fashion and the Poet have been captured by the wild men. This—this snail here has just brought the report.”

The Teenie Weenies and their friends were much shocked by the news, while the snail strutted about, feeling quite important at being the bearer of such an exciting message.

“When did this happen?” asked the mouse with a squeaky voice.

“About five or six hours ago,” answered the snail. “I was walkin’ near the creek when—”

“Five or six hours ago!” shouted the General, turning on the snail. “For the land’s sake, why didn’t you come immediately?”

“I-I-I did,” answered the snail, with an injured expression. “I came just as fast as I could crawl.”

“Of course you did,” said the General kindly. “I beg your pardon. I forgot for the moment that you do not move as fast as most of us.” The snail, who had rather a sensitive nature, was quite hurt by the General’s words and it instantly shrank back into its shell.

After some talk it was decided to scatter up and down the creek in search of the lost Teenie Weenies. The birds flew up and down the creek until it was quite too dark for them to see, while the little people and the rest of their friends hunted all through the night without a sign of the Lady of Fashion and the Poet.

Chapter Two THE CAPTURED TEENIE WEENIES

While the Teenie Weenies were searching along the creek for the Lady of Fashion and the Poet, those two little people were being rapidly paddled down the stream and away from their friends.

The Lady of Fashion and the Poet had gone to the bank of the creek for a picnic. They had eaten their lunch and the Lady of Fashion suggested that they walk down the stream in search of wild flowers. They had only gone a little ways when the wild men, who had been watching them, suddenly leaped upon them from behind a big bush. In a few seconds the wild little fellows had carried their tiny prisoners to their canoe, after having securely bound their hands behind them. Lifting the Teenie Weenies into the boat the wild men jumped in after them and began to paddle down the creek.

“This is a pretty bag of seeds,” moaned the Poet as the boat shot rapidly down the stream. “It’s hard to tell what will become of us now.”

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