"Do you think we'll catch any birds, Notta?" asked Bob Up, venturing so near the edge that the Cowardly Lion gave a roar of terror. "Remember you're not a bird," he warned. "I'll fix him," said Notta. Cutting the line from one of the rods he doubled it many times and fastened Bob securely to the tree. With what was left, he made a safety belt for himself. Then, while the Cowardly Lion shivered with fright, they sat upon the edge of the skyle and cast their lines far into the air below. "Now, Bob my lad, don't expect a bite too soon," said the clown, "for fishing is a mortal slow business, but a fine one for thinking, and all of us must think of a way to get off this island before we're pushed off by the Uns." The Cowardly Lion, with his back to the two fishermen, kept a sharp lookout for the enemy, and all three tried to think. But thinking when you're hungry is hard work. Besides, there were so many things to distract one's attention. The sky, as the afternoon advanced, turned a soft and dreamy pink, and the clouds drifting by were of every shape and color imaginable--green, purple, amber and gold--and of such marvelous form that each seemed lovelier than the last. There were castles and tall masted ships, there were caravans and chariots, and once a white and wonderful Princess waved to the little boy from the back of a feathery swan. So it was small wonder Notta and Bob forgot the Uns, and even their fishing lines, blowing gently to and fro in the soft pink air waves. Then, all at once, Bob's line gave a jerk and had he not been tied to the tree he would certainly have been pulled off the skyle. "Oh! Oh!" screamed the little boy in delight, "I've caught something!" Giving his rod to the Cowardly Lion, who was blinking dreamily at a wonderful cloud city, the clown ran to help Bob, and hand over hand they pulled up the line. What do you suppose was on it? A goose--a simply enormous goose. It was smoking gently as they drew it over the edge. "Why, it's cooked!" marveled Notta, unfastening the line which had caught in the bird's legs. And so it was--cooked in all its feathers with its head tucked under its wing. "Aha, so our goose is cooked, is it?" observed the Cowardly Lion, sniffing the air hungrily. "Must have flown too near the sun." "Well," chuckled Notta, "that I don't pretend to know. Fishing for birds is strange enough, but catching a cooked goose is almost too good to be true."