Sara's Day
Something told Sara, the next morning, to take every one of her dolls.
And the minute she entered the Garden she was glad that she had.
It was clear that something very unusual was afoot. She had never seen
her dear Garden look so festive. It was lavishly decorated with
sun-shafts and rainbows, and everywhere waved streamers of pink
sunrise and violet mist. Over the fountain, in front of the tree where
the Plynck sat, had been stretched a large electric sign. It read,
"In Honor of Sara. Because She is Older than the Snoodle!"
It was made of white and pink gum-drops, and they told her afterward
that the Snimmy had sat up all night to weep them. The Plynck
furnished the electricity by smiling every little while. This lit up
the pink and white gum-drops, till they looked like the tiny globes on
the Wooded Island at the Park. Of course this was in the daytime, but
the Plynck's smile was so much stronger than ordinary electricity that
even in daytime it shone with quite a dazzling effect.
All of her friends were there except Avrillia. Pirlaps had come and
brought all seventy of the children; he said Avrillia was coming on in
a moment, and kept looking down the path for her. The minute the
Kewpie saw Avrillia's children, he slid out of Sara's arms and ran to
them; and all that day Sara could hardly pick him out from the rest of
them. The Baby, too, kicked and cried and stretched out his hands
until one of the older children came and took him; and all day long
they passed him, too, from one to another, and he seemed perfectly
contented. The Teddy-Bear sat down in a quiet corner and shaded his
eyes from the lights; the Billiken strolled about with his hands in
his pockets, smiling at everything; and the Japanese doll went over
and took a seat on the steps of the prose-bush, where he was soon
discussing with Mrs. Snimmy the best way to stew onions.
There were so many of Avrillia's children and so many of the Gunki
that the Garden had a delightfully animated appearance. Yassuh was
there, carrying Pirlaps' step and the hand-bag with his shaving-things
and extra trousers; but as Avrillia hadn't come yet he hadn't used his
step, and his clothes were quite immaculate.
He now stepped up to Sara, who stood looking about her with surprise
and wonder, and said, "Well, Sara, this is your day. You are the guest
of honor, and we're all proud of you. We hope you'll have the
pleasantest time you ever had."
Sara was as charmed as she was bewildered. She didn't say anything at
first, because she didn't want them to know that she didn't quite
understand what it was all about. But presently she couldn't stand not
knowing any longer, so she whispered to Pirlaps,
"Is--is it a sort of birthday?"
"Well,--yes, I suppose you might call it that," answered Pirlaps,
looking at her in the kind, indulgent way he had when she showed her
odd little ideas and her inexperience. "Didn't you announce yesterday
that you were older than the Snoodle?"
For a moment Sara felt as if she ought to explain that that was only
the beginning of her speech, and that, if they had not interrupted her,
she had meant to tell them that she was sorry that she had not taken
more responsibility for the Snoodle, and reminded him to ask
permission from the Snimmy's wife before he left the Garden. But, on
reflection, she realized that they did not blame her in the least, so
there was no need to make excuses; and they all seemed so delighted to
find that she was older than the Snoodle! A birthday is too charming a
thing to refuse, even if it's a special sort of birthday one doesn't
exactly understand; so Sara decided to accept hers with a thankful
heart. Besides, it must be confessed that she had caught glimpses of
parcels here and there. The Plynck, she was sure, had one under her
right wing; and there was no doubt that one was sticking out from
under the coat-tails of the First Gunkus.
"We are to celebrate all day in your honor, Sara," added Pirlaps. "And
this evening, when you are ready to go home, Schlorge will made you an
address of welcome. But what can be keeping Avrillia?"
They all looked down the pathway, but no Avrillia was in sight.
Suddenly the Echo of the Plynck spoke from the pool.
"The guest of honor always goes and fetches anybody who doesn't come,"
she said.
"Does she?" asked Sara, opening her eyes wide; but Pirlaps said, "To
be sure! I had forgotten. Come on, Sara. Let's go bring Avrillia."
Sara was always glad to go to Avrillia's lovely house, though she
couldn't help thinking as she ran that this was one manner Mother
failed to remind her of, whenever she was overhauling her manners for
any especial use.
All was still about the beautiful little house where Avrillia lived,
and Sara looked at it lovingly, for she had a sort of feeling
somewhere deep under her little apron that she would not see it again
for a long while. Pirlaps, who knew Avrillia pretty well, did not look
in the pink bed-room, or the kitchen, or the sitting-room; no, he went
straight to the balcony. And there sat Avrillia, in a mist of her
bright, wild hair, so intent upon her writing that she did not see
them, or hear them speak.
"Sh--sh--" said Pirlaps, in a low tone, when he saw how absorbed she
was. "We'll wait till she finishes that one. Why didn't I bring my
step?"
As he didn't have it, however, he leaned against the alabaster wall,
and waited patiently; though Sara, it must be confessed, was quite
restless. After what seemed to her a very long time, Avrillia drew a
deep breath and shook back her golden hair, and moving like a lost
bird to the balustrade, leaned far out and let her new poem flutter
from her hand. For another long time she did not move, straining her
eyes down into the abyss. At last she straightened up with a long sigh,
and, seeing them, smiled.
"Did it stick?" asked Pirlaps, eagerly.
"No," was all Avrillia said, but her voice made Sara's heart quiver,
for in the sound of it she seemed to hear the temple-bells, and the
fairy hand-organ she had heard in the steep street at Zinariola, and
the drowsy tinkle of the fountain in the Butterfly Palace, and the
little Laughs that leaped about the mountain, and the morning and
evening sheep-bells, all gathered together into one sound that seemed
to say that presently she would have to say good-by to Avrillia. But
Avrillia, seeing her suddenly sad little face, stooped and kissed her
as she had done that other morning, and patted her cheek, and said,
"Oh, but I have a present for you, Sara! This is your day--we must all
be very merry!" And with that she picked up something that was wrapped
in several layers of silver fog and tied with a ripple, and seizing
them both by the arm, went dancing with them down the path to the
Garden.
Everybody applauded when they saw Pirlaps and the guest of honor
returning with Avrillia; and the Teacup, unable longer to restrain her
excitement, fluttered down to the rim of the pool and cried excitedly,
"Now let's give the presents!"
Then something happened that came near turning the fete into a tragedy;
for the Teacup lost her balance in the excitement, and splashed right
over into the pool! The Plynck screamed, Schlorge whistled, the Gunki
came running from every direction; but it was the Echo who saved the
Teacup's life. With great presence of mind she spread out her cerulean
plumes so that the Teacup settled upon them harmlessly, instead of
crashing down upon the hard emerald bottom and shattering to bits.
Then, of course, Schlorge could very easily reach down and draw her
out.
The poor Teacup was naturally very much upset. "If my handle had not
been so consanguineous--" she quavered, again and again. But, on the
whole, considering her age and her timid disposition, they were all
rather surprised at her fortitude.
Schlorge, who was still holding her, was looking very grave. "Sara
will have to frown on her," he said, "as she did on the Zizz."
"But I can't frown, today," cried Sara, in dismay.
"I know it's hard," said Schlorge.
"Or at the Teacup!" pleaded Sara.
"It's your duty, Sara," said the Echo.
"Oh, dear, it's putting off the presents!" sighed one of the oldest of
Avrillia's children; then, as she looked at the poor little gentle,
bedraggled Teacup, with her consanguineous handle, she felt ashamed of
herself, and hid behind her mother's drapery.
As for Sara, she was indeed in distress. "If some of you would only
think of something to make me frown--I can't even think of any
disagreeable things today!"
"You're frowning now!" suddenly cried the First Gunkus, waving his
shoe; and they all forgave him his lack of respectfulness, because he
was plainly so excited.
"Hold her up, Schlorge!" cried Pirlaps, running forward.
"There--Sara--hold that expression--just a moment. Fix your eyes
here--on this leaf! And keep your mind firmly on this thought: 'The
Disagreeable Necessity of Frowning in the Presence of Presents.'"
Sara remembered how brave and useful she had been the day before, and
concentrated her mind by a really tremendous effort. And she was soon
rewarded; for in a few minutes everybody was clapping hands and waving
handkerchiefs and crying, "She's dry! She's dry! Three cheers for
Sara!"
Sure enough, the little Teacup was dry enough to flutter back to her
perch, on which she sat throwing kisses to Sara. And then Pirlaps came
forward, and taking Sara by the hand, said, "Come, Sara."
He then began leading her in a sort of triumphal march around the pool,
while the rest fell in behind them and formed a procession. As there
were so many of the Gunki and Avrillia's children it was quite a long
procession, so that the only way they could tell the head from the
tail of it was by remembering that Sara was the head and that the
Snimmy's wife was the tail. The Echo, who could not leave the pool to
march, spread out the lyre-shaped feathers on the top of her head and
played the most beautiful rippling chords for them to march by.
And suddenly, when they had gone three times around the fountain,
Pirlaps said, "Take the seat of honor, Sara, and receive our gifts."
And there, in front of the Gugollaph-tree, was an enormous frosted
cake, as big around as a wagon-wheel. Sara was sure it had not been
there when the march began. She would have rubbed her eyes, had she
not felt that such a conventional proceeding would be wholly
inadequate.
"Take your seat, Sara," said Pirlaps kindly, enjoying her delight and
astonishment.
Sara came to herself with a start. "Wh-where?" she asked. She was
anxious not to appear awkward, but she did not see any particular
place to sit.
"On the cake, dear, of course," said Pirlaps, who seemed never to tire
of smiling at her odd little questions.
Sara had never done this before, but she was willing to try; and she
was just about to climb upon the cake when another thought deterred
her.
"But the candles? Won't my dress catch?"
"Try and see," said Pirlaps; but Avrillia whispered in her ear, "They
aren't flames, dear: they're only colored perfumes."
So, reassured, Sara took her seat on the cake; and at once she saw
that it made a very nice sort of throne. The frosting was resilient,
but firm; and she now saw that the candles were arranged so that they
made a sort of semicircle about her. Just as Avrillia had said, she
could pass her hands across their wicks without being burned at all;
they only winked and breathed out sweet odors--each flame a different
color and scent. They were as tall as her head, as she sat among them;
and the one at her right ear was of isthagaria, while the one on the
left faintly suggested tinnulalia-flowers.
Before she had finished examining the candles, the Plynck flew down
with the first present. "A lock of my hair," she said, looking eager,
but a little embarrassed; and she actually perched on the rim of the
pool while Sara unwrapped it, so that she might see whether or not she
was pleased. But I do not need to tell you that Sara was; for it was
one of her loveliest tail-feathers, a rich, curling plume of the
deepest rose, from which sweet odors were shaken out as Sara lifted it
to the light. Weeks afterward, when Sara astonished her mother by
begging for the pink plume on her prettiest hat, what she was really
pining for was a lock of the Plynck's hair.
Avrillia came next with her present. It was a little urn of jade and
ivory, and it was full to the top of dried poems written on
rose-leaves. Have you ever seen the quaint rose-jars some
old-fashioned ladies have in their parlors? Well, some one of them,
when she was little, saw one of Avrillia's poem-jars; and she made
these others in a homesick effort to imitate it. And the
fragrance--like nothing else you ever smelled--is the perfume of
Avrillia's poems, as nearly as that little old-fashioned lady, after
she grew up, could remember it.
You would not expect me to remember all of the presents Sara got that
day. But a good many I can remember. Pirlaps brought her a picture he
had painted; a very beautiful view of Nothing from Avrillia's balcony.
Yassuh brought her a delicious Crumb; it was wrapped in a sticky paper
covered with his finger-prints, but inside the paper was one of
Avrillia's exquisite napkins of embroidered mist. The First Gunkus,
remembering how she had loved the mountain, brought her a little live
Laugh. He had climbed the mountain and trapped it for her, and made
her a little cage to take it home with. It was very funny to hear it
tittering about inside. The rest of the Gunki had clubbed together and
bought her a gold-headed tuning-fork, so that she might be sure their
answers were in tune. The Snimmy's wife brought her three large onions,
neatly hemmed and tied in a bouquet with purple ribbon; the Snimmy
himself a striped paper bag full of gum-drops. And the Snoodle's
present was too cunning for anything! It was a little silver
plum-extractor. With it a child could extract all the fattest raisins
from her piece of mince-pie or portion of rice pudding without having
to bother with the uninteresting remainder and being reprimanded; for
the ingenious little instrument was invisible to adults. All the other
presents were marked "For Sara, with our congratulations, because she
is older than the Snoodle." But this one was marked, in a round,
childish hand, "For my dear Sara--because she is older than me."
But the grand surprise came when, near the last, four Gunki hurried in
bearing a large chest, which they placed at Sara's feet. "It came by
the Gahoppigas Express, Miss, with no message," they explained. And
when Sara opened it she found that it was full of butterfly money--the
loveliest pieces of gold and silver that the frittilaries and papilios
had collected from their own wings. Just inside the lid was a lily
leaf bearing the inscription,
"For Sara, from a grateful Nation,
Because she is older than the Snoodle."
Sara distributed handfuls of the beautiful little coins among them and
again they cheered her for her generosity. Sara felt that she really
did not deserve the cheering, however, as she seemed to have as many
as ever--even after she had filled Mrs. Snimmy's apron and a shoe
apiece for each Gunkus.
When the excitement over the money had subsided a little, Pirlaps
announced; "The Banquet is now ready!" and again offering Sara his arm,
he led her at the head of another procession three times around the
fountain; and the third time, as before, there beside the cake was the
banquet table--all spread and loaded down and glittering. Of course it
was quite a long table, with a good many covers; there had to be one
for each of Avrillia's children and for every one of the Gunki. The
covers were very thin (being made of cobweb, of course) still, having
so many, spread one on top of the other, made the table quite high, so
that there were step-ladders instead of chairs. As there was a
step-ladder for each guest, and as they were made of gold and silver,
arranged alternately, the effect was very unique and elaborate.
Sara, being the guest of honor, was assigned the most inconspicuous
place, three step-ladders south of the centre. When they were seated,
and Sara's mouth was fairly watering at the sight of all the fairy
delicacies the table displayed, Pirlaps, as master of ceremonies, rose
and said, "You understand, Sara, that, on occasions like this, the
guest of honor eats nothing but Toast."
Now, just imagine how disappointed Sara was! She really was having a
hard time to wink back the tears, when Avrillia, who often understood
more than the others, leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Wait till
you taste it, Sara!"
Avrillia's eyes sparkled so that Sara was quite reassured; besides,
she suddenly remembered the butterfly butter, and how her distress had
been turned into rapture on that occasion. And when Avrillia added,
"Besides, you have Birdsong wine with it!" she felt as happy as ever,
and quite confident that there would be some delightful surprise about
it.
When Pirlaps announced the first Toast, however, and the first
slice walked heavily out from behind the little screen at the
toastmaster's elbow, Sara again felt a sinking of the heart; for,
except that he walked on his lower right-hand corner, as he had been
trained to do, and made a rather awkward and laborious bow when his
name was announced, he looked otherwise so exactly like a plain, brown,
fat, every-day-in-the-year piece of breakfast toast that it was hard
to be enthusiastic about him--at least in the presence of all the
exotic-looking dainties the other guests were to have! However, Sara
made a great effort, and settled herself to listen to the Toasts
politely. The name of this Toast was "Sara's Day--Because She is Older
than the Snoodle," and the Plynck responded to it. The way she
responded was this: the Toast balanced himself with difficulty on his
lower corner, and said, in a throaty voice, "How do you do, Madame
Plynck?" and the Plynck bowed (much more gracefully) and responded,
"How do you do, Toast?" And then she made a speech on the Toast's
subject. While she was making the speech (which was lovely--she fairly
soared) the Toast tottered over to Sara's plate and lay down in it,
without any further sign of life or animation. Avrillia leaned over
and Whispered, "Eat it, Sara," and then Sara did. And she didn't have
any trouble keeping from being disappointed, after that. For, just as
Avrillia had hinted, the toast, in spite of its appearance, was really
Angel Food cake; and as she ate it, Sara found at her elbow a bottle
marked "Birdsong Wine--Bluebird." As the Gunki were all eating, they
couldn't wait on her, so she poured it into her glass herself; and
when she had taken a sip, it tasted just like April! You may imagine
that, from that time on, Sara had no further anxiety about what she
was to eat, and that her mind was now entirely free to enjoy the
Toasts. The second Toast was announced, indeed, before she had
recovered from her first surprise and delight. The subject of this
Toast was, "Sara's Dimples--May I Never Get Them"; and of course it
was responded to by the Snimmy. There was no variety either in the
looks or in the performance of the Toasts; I must admit that they were
very heavy, awkward, and short of breath, and were as much alike as
the trained sea-lions at a circus. However, you felt that, like the
sea-lions, they were doing very well to perform at all. (Avrillia
whispered to Sara that Pirlaps, as toastmaster, had spent days and
days preparing them; so Sara suspected that Pirlaps, at least, had
known all along that she was older than the Snoodle.) The speeches, on
the other hand, were marvels of variety and interest. The Snimmy's, of
course, was sad--even heartrending; and he was sniffing before he had
finished saying, "How do you do, Toast?" and shedding gum-drops like
hail-stones before he was half through. His Toast, however, was
orange-cake, unusually delicious; and the wine served with it was a
sparkling cherry-colored beverage marked "Cardinal." It was so heady
that it even had a topknot, and it served admirably to counteract the
depressing effect of the Snimmy's speech. The next Toast was responded
to by the First and Second Gunki; and its subject was, "Sara's
Tears--May There Be No Mad and Few Sad." The speech was in the form of
a duet, rendered by the Gunki with deep feeling, and accompanied by
the Plynck and her Echo with liquid-sounding arpeggios on their lyres,
that were most appropriate. The Toast was old-fashioned jelly-cake,
with Robinsong wine. Avrillia responded to a thin slice, whose subject
was "Nothing"; everybody clapped when this subject was announced, for
they felt that the subject was in the hands of an authority, and would
be handled in a masterly manner. Nor were they disappointed;
Avrillia's speech was in the form of a long poem, which she recited
from memory, looking very wild and lovely. The Toast was silver-cake,
with Veerie wine. Pirlaps himself, although he was toastmaster,
responded to a Toast called "Sara's Questions--Bless Their Hearts!"
and his Toast was chocolate-cake, with Wren wine. The Snoodle was too
young to make a speech, but they had taught him to respond to a simple
little Toast, "On Being Older than Snoodles," and it was very charming
to hear him lisp, "How do you do, Toast?" like the others. His Toast
was a plum-cake; and you should have seen how pleased he was when Sara
took out the little silver plum-extractor, and used it like an adept!
And the Teacup, having responded to a Toast with the subject, "If Only
My Saucer Could Have Known Sara," made a very graceful but agitated
little speech that brought out many cobweb pocket-handkerchiefs.
Of course that is not all the Toasts, nor even half of them; they kept
it up until it was growing quite late, and at last Pirlaps said,
"Sara, Schlorge did not bring you a present or respond to a Toast,
because he has made you an address of welcome. You have spent many
happy days with us, and will soon be leaving. The time has come at
last for us to bid you welcome. We will not dwell on the natural
sadness of the occasion; rather, let us rejoice in the delights we
have enjoyed together, and hope for a recurrence of these fair and
memorable days. Sehlorge!"
Schlorge, overcome with pride and embarrassment, rose from his seat.
He started around the pool with much dignity; then his composure
suddenly gave way. "Where's the stump?" he began to shout wildly.
"Where's the--where's the--"
"There, there, Schlorge, you're walking right to it," said Pirlaps,
soothingly, hastening after him and laying a hand upon his arm. Then,
as Schlorge scrambled upon it, Pirlaps raised his hand to command
attention.
"Schlorge wishes me to state," he said, in his pleasant, clear voice,
"that the gesture he will now make goes with the first line of his
address. He cannot make it at that point because his hands will be
already arranged. But I will request that you all observe it carefully,
and hold it in mind until it is needed."
Thereupon Schlorge made a large, deliberate, comprehensive gesture. It
included the pool, the Gugollaph-tree, the prose-bush--not only the
whole Garden, in fact, but the lovely amphitheatre beyond it. Moreover,
it seemed to Sara to include even more distant things; the Rainbow
Vale and the Butterfly Country, and the colony where lived the
relations of Pirlaps, and the Laughter Mountain and Avrillia's house
and the magic toy City of Zinariola.
At last, having concluded his gesture, Schlorge arranged his hands and
began in a loud voice:
"A little girl's mind is a place like this--
At least, that of one little dear girl is:
Full of quaint little thoughts made of sugar and spice,
And queer little notions like little white mice.
"But a little boy's mind is not nearly so neat,
And a little boy's fancies are scarcely so sweet:
So we'll give you a tale next, if fortune avails,
Full of snapses and snailses and puppy-dog's tails."
Then, for the last time, Schlorge went running wildly down the dear,
familiar path toward the Dimplesmithy.
"Come again, Sara!" he shouted back, excitedly, over his shoulder.
"Come again! And bring Jimmy!"
Sara knew that he could not bear to tell her good-by; and, suddenly,
she felt the same way about them all. They had been so kind to her! So
she began to throw kisses to them all, and then, suddenly, slipped
down from her step-ladder. Her dollies jumped down and gathered about
her, and with them all at her heels she went running past the
dimple-holder and out through the ivory gates.
And the last thing she saw, when she turned to throw her last kiss,
was the Echo, who, overcome by emotion, had at last climbed clear out
upon the rim of the pool, where she sat waving her plumes to Sara in
plain sight of them all.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Garden of the Plynck, by Karle Wilson Baker