tree," he mused, "and there are only two more
loaves on that tree; and they're not ripe yet. Tell
me, Unc; why are we so poor?"

The old Munchkin turned and looked at Ojo. He
had kindly eyes, but he hadn't smiled or laughed
in so long that the boy had forgotten that Unc
Nunkie could look any other way than solemn. And
Unc never spoke any more words than he was obliged
to, so his little nephew, who lived alone with
him, had learned to understand a great deal from
one word.

"Why are we so poor, Unc?" repeated the boy.

"Not," said the old Munchkin.

"I think we are," declared Ojo. "What have we
got?"

"House," said Unc Nunkie.

"I know; but everyone in the Land of Oz
has a place to live. What else, Unc?"

"Bread."

"I'm eating the last loaf that's ripe. There;
I've put aside your share, Unc. It's on the table,
so you can eat it when you get hungry. But when