told the Snimmy's wife? Perhaps
he was running away!

So she gathered up the reins and saw him leap safely up behind her;
then she turned to wave good-by to the Butterfly Country and its
strange, changeable, elegant inhabitants. And as long as she could see
anything she watched the pulsing, many-colored wings waving
regretfully over the royal garden with the strange flowers.

The ride home through the cool of the evening was as delightful as the
morning's ride had been; but not quite so breathless and exciting,
because it seemed to Sara by this time quite natural to ride upon a
Gahoppigas. But when she slid off her charger at the entrance of the
Plynck's Garden her ears were assailed by an unspeakable clamor of
mournful sound; it sounded a little like a Swiss yodler with a broken
heart, and a little like a dog howling because the yodler was singing.
And it went "Snoodle-oodle-oodle-ooo!!" And Sara knew, with a sinking
heart, that it was the Snimmy's wife lifting up her voice in
lamentation for her lost child.

Therefore, for the first time, she was a little afraid to go into the
Garden. But she had already been so brave that day that she had rather
contracted the habit; so she drew a long breath, and, saying calmly,
"Come, Snoodle!" she walked straight up to the pool.

And such a clamor of rejoicing as arose at their appearance! The
Plynck was so surprised that she crowed like a rooster; and then
apologized to everybody (half-laughing and half-crying) for being so
unladylike. The Teacup fluttered, the Snimmy sniffed; and the Snimmy's
wife--that grim, undemonstrative woman--rushed out from the prose-bush
and gathered her darling, and Sara, too, to her heart.

But Sara was not through being brave. She stepped up upon Schlorge's
stump, and, swallowing hard, said in a clear voice,

"Perhaps it was my fault. I'm older than the Snoodle--"

"Hurrah for Sara! She's older than the Snoodle!" cried the First and
Second Gunki. And at that the whole Garden went wild over her just as
the butterflies had done. The Gunki carried her around on their
shoulders; the Snimmy and his wife pelted her with moon-flowers; the
Plynck and the Teacup kept up an agitated patter of feminine
hand-clapping; and Schlorge came running down the path from the
Dimplesmithy, cheering wildly.

When they finally put her down beside the dimple-holder, very rumpled
and bright-eyed and flushed, Sara felt her little heart swell with
pride. For twice that