ide, now on the other, and
now in front--and murmuring, "What in Zeelup, my dear?" with the
utmost solicitude expressed on her gentle old face. Sara knew that the
Teacup was timid, and seldom left the Garden; and she realized that
her affection and concern for her must be very deep, to bring her
fluttering along with her in this fashion, without stopping to ask the
Plynck, or to think of the consequences to herself and her
consanguineous handle.

By this time they had passed through the hawthorn hedge that bounded
the Garden, and could see just below them a beautiful little Vale,
with a rainbow arching over the entrance to it, like a gate. Inside
the Vale the view was not very distinct, for streamers of light mist
blew across its green moss, and its white boulders, and the little
stream that wound down the middle of it. It was rather a sad-looking
little place, of course, but not bitter-looking or very long; and now
and then a sun-pencil struck across it, and for a moment made more
rainbows like the one at the entrance.

As soon as they had passed through the hedge the Gunki stopped,
breathing heavily and mopping their brows with their hatbands.

"Rest a minute, dear, and try to keep them from falling," said the
Teacup, who was also breathless, but very kind. "Of course, if they
should fall here it wouldn't be so bad; still, if you can keep them on
your lashes till we reach the Vale--"

"What would they do," asked Sara, in awe, "if they fell in the
Garden?"

The Teacup and the Gunki looked at each other with wide, horrified
eyes, each waiting for the other to speak.

"Well, you see, none ever have fallen in the Garden," said the Teacup,
at last, speaking in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper.
"Before my Saucer was broken--"

"She's a widow, Miss," explained the Gunki, whispering to Sara behind
their hands. One whispered in baritone, one in bass.

"Before my Saucer was broken," continued the Teacup, with a grateful
look at the thoughtful Gunki, "I've heard him say that a little girl
came into the Garden one day with tears in her eyes, and that one
would have fallen, if a Gunkus had not caught it in his shoe. Haven't
you noticed the old, gray-haired Gunkus, who always wears a wooden
medal on his coat-tail--"

"Our grandfather," whispered the Gunki, behind their hands. This time
they whispered in second bass and tenor.

"Yes, the grandfather of these dear boys," said the susceptible old
lady. "He was