Here, however, was an occasion when he might put these wings to good use, for if he spread them in the air and then leaped over the side of the basket they would act in the same way a parachute does, and bear him gently to the ground. No sooner did this thought occur to him than he put it into practice. Disentangling his wings from his coat-tails, he spread them as wide as possible and then jumped from the car of the balloon. Down, down the Woggle-Bug sank; but so slowly that there was no danger in the flight. He began to see the earth again, lying beneath him like a sun-kissed panorama of mud and frog-ponds and rocks and brushwood. There were few trees, yet it was our insect's fate to drop directly above what trees there were, so that presently he came ker-plunk into a mass of tangled branches--and stuck there, with his legs dangling helplessly between two limbs and his wings caught in the foliage at either side. Below was a group of Arab children, who at first started to run away. But, seeing that the queer creature which had dropped from the skies was caught fast in the tree, they stopped and began to throw stones and clubs at it. One of the missiles struck the tree-limb at the right of the Woggle-Bug and jarred him loose. The next instant he fluttered to the ground, where his first act was to fold up his wings and tuck them underneath his coat-tails again, and his next action was to assure himself that the beloved plaids were still safe. Then he looked for the Arab children; but they had scuttled away towards a group of tents, and now several men with dark skins and gay clothing came from the tents and ran towards the Woggle-Bug. "Good morning," said our hero, removing his hat with a flourish and bowing politely. "Meb-la-che-bah!" shouted the biggest Arab, and at once two others wound coils of rope around the Woggle-Bug and tied the ends in hard knots. His hat was knocked off and trampled into the mud by the Shiek (who was the big Arab), and the precious parcel was seized and ruthlessly opened. "Very good!" said the Shiek, eyeing the plaids with pleasure. "My slaves shall make me a new waistcoat of this cloth." "No! oh, no!" cried the agonized Insect; "it is taken from a person who has had small-pox and yellow-fever and toothache and mumps--all at the same time. Do not, I bet you, risk your valuable life by wearing that cloth!" "Bah!" said the Shiek, scornfully; "I have had all those diseases and many more. I am immune. But now," he continued, "allow me to bid you good-bye. I am sorry to be obliged to kill you, but such is our custom." This was bad news for the Woggle-Bug; but he did not despair. "Are you not afraid to kill me?" he asked, as if surprised. "Why should I be afraid?" demanded the Shiek. "Because it is well-known that to kill a woggle-bug brings bad luck to one." The Shiek hesitated, for he was very superstitious. "Are you a woggle-bug?" he asked.