alas for the uncertainty of all our hopes! Just as the Woggle-Bug
reached the door he saw a lady coming out of the store dressed in
identical checks with which he had fallen in love!

At first he did not know what to do or say, for the young lady's
complexion was not wax--far from it. But a glance into the window
showed him the wax lady now dressed in a plain black tailor-made suit,
and at once he knew the wearer of the Wagnerian plaids was his real
love, and not the stiff creature behind the glass.

"Beg pardon!" he exclaimed, stopping the young lady; "but you're mine.
Here's the seven ninety-three, and seven cents for candy."

But she glanced at him in a haughty manner, and walked away with her
nose slightly elevated.

He followed. He could not do otherwise with those delightful checks
shining before him like beacon-lights to urge him on.

The young lady stepped into a car, which whirled away rapidly. For a
moment he was nearly paralyzed at his loss; then he started after the
car as fast as he could go, and this was very fast indeed--he being a
woggle-bug.

Somebody cried: "Stop, thief!" and a policeman ran out to arrest him.
But the Woggle-Bug used his four hands to push the officer aside, and
the astonished man went rolling into the gutter so recklessly that his
uniform bore marks of the encounter for many days.

Still keeping an eye on the car, the Woggle-Bug rushed on. He
frightened two dogs, upset a fat gentleman who was crossing the street,
leaped over an automobile that shot in front of him, and finally ran
plump into the car, which had abruptly stopped to let off a passenger.
Breathing hard from his exertions, he jumped upon the rear platform of
the car, only to see his charmer step off at the front and walk
mincingly up the steps of a house. Despite his fatigue, he flew after
her at once, crying out:

"Stop, my variegated dear--stop! Don't you know you're mine?"

But she slammed the door in his face, and he sat down upon the steps
and wiped his forehead with his pink handkerchief and fanned himself
with his hat and tried to think what he should do next.

Presently a very angry man came out of the house. He had a revolver in
one hand and a carving-knife in the other.

"What do you mean by insulting my wife?" he demanded.

"Was that your wife?" asked the Woggle-Bug, in meek astonishment.

"Of course it is my wife," answered the man.

"Oh, I didn't know," said the insect, rather humbled. "But I'