rewarded for being good, and the Baby was
rewarded for being bad, and Sara slipped through the ivory doors with
both of them tucked under one arm.

Almost immediately a Gunkus in livery stepped up and handed her a note
from Avrillia. He made a low bow, holding his shoe in his right hand
over his heart.

It was written on a rose-leaf, of course, and it had a delightful
faint odor, not only of roses, but of isthagaria. Sara opened it, and
read,

"We're leaving on the early boat. Would you like to go with us? We'll
be gone all day."

There was no answer to that but to run as fast as she could down the
little curly path. This morning it was not so much curly as melodious;
but Sara was in such a hurry that she hardly noticed. She forgot to
dismiss the Gunkus, but left him standing in front of the
dimple-holder, still bowing low, with his left shoe in his right hand
over his heart.

Pirlaps was standing on the front steps, all ready to start, and
beside him grinned Yassuh, carrying the step in one hand and an
enormous traveling-bag (almost as large as Sara's mother's leather
purse) in the other.

"Good-morning, Sara," said Pirlaps, in his unfailingly delightful way,
"I'm glad you got here in time. Avrillia will be ready in a second or
two."

Sara could hardly keep from skipping, she was so pleased at the
prospect of a day's expedition with Pirlaps and Avrillia. She did not
know where they were going, but that didn't matter: she was sure to
see something interesting. She edged up to Yassuh, taking care,
however, not to get close enough to brush against his chocolate
outside, which might come off on her clean apron. "What's in your
bag?" she coaxed, mischievously.

"Only my extra trousers, Sara," said Pirlaps, smiling; and then Sara
remembered that, though he did so many useful things (when he was not
asleep), she had never once heard Yassuh speak. He only grinned and
rolled his white eyes as Pirlaps continued, "We're taking twelve extra
pairs."

Just then Avrillia came out of the door. Avrillia could not be
ungraceful or abrupt, but she was evidently in a hurry. Her motions
were rather like that of a wisp of white sea-fog that is blown ahead
of a rising wind.

"There was so much to do before I could get off!" she explained a
little breathlessly. "The children came unexpectedly, too, and I had
to vanish them. Then, while I was dressing, I thought of a poem I had
to write about hair-pins--and oh, it almost stuck