ng nearer twig by twig; and it
trembled up to the Plynck just as she said, softly and absent-mindedly,
"Avrillia's at home."

"Oh, is she?" exclaimed Sara, clapping her hands with joy. She did not
know who Avrillia was; nevertheless, it somehow seemed delightful to
hear that she was at home. But alas and alas! when she clapped her
hands she forgot all about the dimples she had been holding so
carefully. To tell the truth, she had never taken them off before; but
she was ashamed to let the Plynck know about that, especially as she
had lived in The House all her former life. Her first thought, indeed,
when she realized what had happened, was to conceal the catastrophe
from the Plynck; but before she could get her breath that gentle bird
startled her almost out of her wits by shrieking,

"Watch out! the Snimmy will get it!"

And there, at Sara's feet, where a bit of the dimple lay on the taffy
(looking very much like a fragile bit of a Christmas-tree ornament),
was a real Snimmy, vest-pocket and all. His tail was longer than that
of most Snimmies, and his nose was sharper and more debilitating, but
you would have known him at once, as Sara did, for a Snimmy. She
thought, too, that he trembled more than most of them, and that he was
whiter and more slippery. Ordinarily, she had never felt afraid of
Snimmies; but the startling shriek of the Plynck, and the exposed
position of her dimple, set her to jumping wildly up and down. And,
indeed, the worst would have happened, had not the Echo of the Plynck,
with great presence of mind, cried out', "Cover it! Cover it!" And at
that cry the Teacup fluttered hastily down and turned itself upside
down over the piece of dimple. And there it sat, panting a little, but
looking as plump and pleased as possible, though the Snimmy was still
dancing and sniffing ferociously around its rim.

"There!" said the Plynck in her own gentle voice, though it still
shook with excitement. "It's a mercy you settled without breaking."
Then, turning to Sara, "And goodness knows how we'll ever get it out,
Sara. It will take at least three onions to anaesthetize the Snimmy."

Now, this was indeed dreadful. Sara had been conscious enough before
this announcement of the havoc she had wrought by her carelessness;
and now to have brought down upon herself a word like that! She was
almost ready to cry; and to keep from being quite ready, she suggested,
tremulously, "Do you suppose I could go after the onions