Mr. Wogglebug led the way out of the strange forest. And now the twisted trees opened a path away from the glass cottage. Behind them, growing fainter, were the hollow sighs of the trees and of the Silver Maiden. At last they reached the edge of the forest. As the four friends stood looking around the countryside, the trees gave a heavy sigh and then were silent.
"Before we can find a seven-leaf clover," said Mr. Wogglebug, "we must find a place where clover grows."
The area before them was marshland. Mr. Wogglebug shaded his eyes with his hand. "There's a field of tall grass on the other side of the marsh," he said, pointing. "It stretches to dryer land. Beyond these places there must be a meadow, and we'd be sure to find clover there," he added trying to remain optimistic.
"But first we have to cross this marshland," said the Tin Woodman. "I'd really rather not get wet. Rust, you know."
"I turn into a ragbag of wet straw when I get wet," said the Scarecrow. "Then you'd have to take out my straw and scatter it in the sun to dry before we could go on."
"Getting wet wouldn't hurt me," said Jack Pumpkinhead. "Although my feet might get stuck in the mud on the bottom."
Mr. Wogglebug thought, studying the marsh. "There are spots of grass," he said. "Here's what we'll do. Getting a little wet won't hurt me, so I'll go first. I'll step on the dry places, and you walk in my footsteps."
He went first, testing, stepping from one grassy hummock to the next, choosing the driest.
Behind him walked the Tin Woodman, his arms outstretched to keep his balance. He put his feet carefully on the knobs of thick grass as Mr. Wogglebug lifted his feet away from them.
The Scarecrow hopped after him with Jack Pumpkinhead following close behind him.
"Instead of stepping stones," said the Scarecrow, "we have stepping grass."
"We're getting there," Mr. Wogglebug said encouragingly. "See? It's really quite easy. We just... have... to..." His voice trailed away.
He tested one hummock, then another. Each time he felt something thick and heavy beneath his feet as if the grass was covering up something other than mud and water. He tested a few more with the same results. The he suddenly heard a grumbling sound.
"Wait," he whispered to the others.
Then he suddenly saw the water before him beginning to ripple, and then the grumbling sound grew louder and deeper. He then felt a chill run down his back as he watched the hummocks in front of him rising up from the water and beneath them he saw huge dirty brownish green round toadlike creatures with warts covering their fat bodies and huge bulbous eyes that looked at them furiously.
The one closest to him spoke in a croaky voice that was like the Frogman's but a lot less educated and a lot less friendly. "Stop right where you are! You will go no further!"
Mr. Wogglebug recovered from his surprise enough to talk back to them. "We must cross over here if we are to get to the other side," he said. "We mean you no harm."
"We are the neema-toads of this marshland," said the biggest one, "and we allow no one to cross it without our consent."
"And why won't you give us your consent?" asked Mr. Wogglebug.
"Because you resemble what we feed on is why," said the neema-toad.
Mr. Wogglebug shuddered for a moment and then he composed himself and spoke in a strong voice, "Well, as you can see I am much to big to be something for you to feed on, and much to smart and wise for you to be able to even if you wanted to."
This caused quite an uproar of angry croaking among the neema-toads. Then the big one said, "Even if that is so we cannot let you cross here. We were put here to prevent trespassers from reaching the land of the West by order of the witch governing the land."
"The witch governing the land of the West? But she is dead!" exclaimed Mr. Wogglebug incredulously.
"Dead... dead... dead?" muttered the neema-toads in shock.
"She was melted by a girl named Dorothy when she threw a pail of water on her," Mr. Wogglebug continued. "How can you give allegiance to someone who is dead?"
"Well, if the witch is dead, who governs the land of the West now?" asked the neema-toad leader.
"I do," said the Tin Woodman. "The position was given to me by the people there."
"Then we owe our allegiance to you now," said the neema-toad leader. "What is your command?"
"My command," said the Tin Woodman, "is that you let us cross through here and then let everyone else who wants to cross do so."
The neema-toads all gave low grumbles of displeasure. "As you wish," they croaked. They then sank down beneath the water once again.
The four friends then stepped their way through the marshland without further trouble. When they reached the end they pushed their way through the tall grass on the other side, and came to at last the other side.
There, spread out before them was a meadow. It reached to a distant blue river and almost as far as the eye could see on the left and right.
"Here is our meadow," said the Scarecrow.
"It's so enormous," said the Tin Woodman.
"How are we ever going to find a seven-leaf clover in this huge place?" said Jack Pumpkinhead. "We'll have to hunt for days and days."
"There are four of us," Mr. Wogglebug said optimistically. "We can divide the meadow into four parts."
"That will speed things up," said the Tin Woodman.
"But it's still a huge place," said the Scarecrow.
"Now, see here." The voice came from behind them. "Who be all of you lads? This be my meadow you is treading on and you best have a good reason for doing so."
They turned around and saw standing before them was a short man about three-and-a-half feet tall with long red hair and a matching beard. He was dressed in a bright green jacket and vest and bowtie and knee-breeches with pale green stockings and shiny black shoes with curved toes.
"We beg your pardon, Mr. Leprechaun," said Mr. Wogglebug bowing politely. "We didn't come here especially to upset you."
"We've come to find a seven-leaf clover that will save our friend's sons," said the Tin Woodman. "When we've found what we're looking for we'll leave."
"A seven-leaf clover ye say?" said the leprechaun rubbing his beard thoughtfully.
"Maybe you can help us," said Mr. Wogglebug hopefully. "It's hard just to find a four-leaf clover, and I've never even heard of one with seven leaves. And this is a great-huge meadow."
"My dear sir!" said the leprechaun. "You are lowly educated in clover, that is clear. In my time, I have seen them all – four-leaf, five, six, seven. Once I even found an eight-leaf clover. Of course, that was rare."
"You have?" asked Mr. Wogglebug. "I mean, seen them all?" His spirits lifted. "Do you know, then, where I can find a seven-leaf clover?"
The leprechaun blinked. "Do I know! I've been living by this meadow since I was a wee one. I know every inch of it. I know the luckiest clovers, and I know those that are unlucky. I know those that -"
"But the seven-leaf type," the Scarecrow said impatiently. "That's what we have come for."
"Fuss, fuss, fuss," said the leprechaun. "I shall be glad to help ye. But do not hurry me. There is much you must see here first."
And he set off to show them around his meadow. He stopped near some three-leaf clovers.
"These bring the lightest of luck to only very good people who are pure in heart," he said. "They are not to be taken to seriously."
Next he led them to patches of four-leaf and five-leaf clovers. "Four-leaf clovers bring an immense amount of good luck for an extended length of time. Five-leaf clovers are much more lucky and they can be used to treat illnesses of the heart, soul, and mind as well."
Next he paused near a clump of six-leaf clovers. "The six-leafed clovers are used all over the world in the practices of magical spells and rituals. They are quite powerful in magic of both good and not so good."
"But the seven-leafed clover," he said at last. He led them to a spot not far from the place where they had entered the meadow. "The seven-leaf clover, me lads, are among the most powerful of all magical plants in existence. They have the very power to alter a person's mindset if he eats one, or two cure a deadly disease even if one is close to death from it."
At last! Mr. Wogglebug dropped to his knees, counting the leaves. "They really do have seven! And there are lots and lots of them here! Heaps!"
"Pick a whole bunch," said the Scarecrow eagerly, "a regular bouquet. In case we loose some."
"Tut-tut, mustn't be greedy," said the leprechaun chidingly. "For if you pick too many of these powerful clovers there magic may indeed become impotent to you. So I'd advise you to just pick one."
So Mr. Wogglebug carefully plucked out one seven-leaf clover by its stem. He stood up, tucking it securely into his vest pocket. "We can go back now," he said joyfully. "Now we can rescue Herbert and George."