y, it's your laugh, child," said the Echo of the Plynck, who, all
this time, had been watching the scene with much amusement. "Don't you
know your own laugh when you see it?"

"I never saw it before," said Sara with a wondering smile. "I guess
I've heard it."

"Now, isn't that odd--and interesting!" said the Echo to the Plynck.
"The child says she has heard it, but never seen it. Here," she added,
turning to Sara, and speaking in a louder tone, "we see a great deal
of laughter--but we never hear it."

"Well, and are you going to stand there all day staring?" suddenly put
in the wife of the Snimmy from the prose-bush. "Ain't you going to go
after it and ketch it? What'll your Maw say if you come home without
your laugh? And your Paw?"

Sara had not thought of that. But when she did think, she realized
that it would be dreadful. What would Father think when he told her
his funniest story and she did not laugh?

"But--but what shall I do?" she wondered, half to herself.

The dolls at her feet set up a clamor of plans, but as they were all
talking at once (except the Brown Teddy-Bear, who looked even more
pessimistic than usual) their suggestions were not very helpful. Sara
and her other friends stood knitting their brows in perplexity. (Sara
was just learning to knit, so she had her needles and a ball of yarn
sticking out of her apron pocket. She was delighted to find brows so
much easier to knit than yarn.)

Suddenly the Snimmy's wife spoke again. "Send for Schlorge," she said.
"He'll know what to do."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than they saw a Gunkus
running down the path toward the Dimplesmithy to tell Schlorge.

"In the meantime, Sara, you'd better dress me more suitably,"
suggested the Billiken kindly. Sara had never heard him object before
to wearing the Baby's long dress; but he was evidently looking forward
to a race and did not wish to be handicapped.

So Sara sat down on the blue plush grass, and undressed the Billiken
while they waited for Schlorge. She had time now to notice that the
snow had melted and left everything beautifully fresh and bright, just
as Pirlaps had assured her it would do. She had never seen the Garden
look so lovely and spring-like. She was glad, too, to see that the
stump had grown back exactly as it was; they had even removed the
ropes and scaffolding.

She took the Baby's clothes off the Billiken, and left him all free
and unimpeded in his own, fat, white, f