Produced by William F. Seabrook
The Garden of the Plynck
by
Karle Wilson Baker
Contents
Chapter I. The Dimplesmithy
Chapter II. Avrillia
Chapter III. Relations
Chapter IV. The Invaders
Chapter V. Crumbs and Waffles
Chapter VI. The Little Lost Laugh
Chapter VII. Accepting an Invitation
Chapter VIII. The Vale of Tears
Chapter IX. Cheers and Butter
Chapter X. Sara's Day
Chapter I The Dimplesmithy
Grown people have such an exasperating way of saying, "Now, when I wasa little girl--"
Then, just as you prick up the little white ears of your mind for astory, they finish, loftily, "I did--or didn't do--so-and-so."
It is certainly an underhand way of suggesting that you stop doingsomething pleasant, or begin doing something unpleasant; and you wouldnot have thought that Sara's dear mother would have had so unworthy ahabit. But a stern regard for the truth compels me to admit that shehad.
You see, Sara's dear mother was, indeed, most dear; but veryself-willed and contrary. Her great fault was that she was always busyat something. She would darn, and she would write, and she would readdark-colored books without pictures. When Sara compared her with othermothers of her acquaintance, or when this very contrary own-motherwent away for a day, she seemed indeed to Sara quite desperatelyperfect. But on ordinary days Sara was darkly aware, in the clearestpart of her mind--the upper right-hand corner near the window--thather mother, with all her charm, really did need to be remoulded nearerto her heart's desire.
She was especially clear about this on the frequent occasions when shewould come into the room where her mother was sitting, and plump downupon a chair with a heart-rending sigh, and say, "I wish I hadsomebody to play with!"
For then her dear but most contrary mother would glance up from herbook or her darning and remark, with a calm smile,
"When I was a little girl--"
"Ah!"
"I used to go inside my head and play."
And Sara would answer with a poor, vindictive satisfaction, "There'snothing in my head to play with!"
And her kind-hearted mother would snip off her thread and say gently,in a tone of polite regret, "Poor little girl!"
Then Sara would gnash the little milk-teeth of her mind and have awfulthoughts. The worst she ever had came one day when Mother, who hadalready filled about fourteen pages of paper with nothing in the worldbut words, acted that way again. And just as she said, "Poor littlegirl!" Sara thought, "I'd like to take that sharp green pencil andstick it into Mother's forehead, and watch a story run out of her headthrough the hole!"
But that was such an awful thought that she sent it scurrying away, asfast as she could. Just the same, she said to herself, if Mother everacted that way again--
And, after all, Mother did. And that was the fatal time--thefour-thousand-and-fourth. For, after Mother had suggested it fourthousand and four times, it suddenly occurred to Sara that she mighttry it.
So she shut the doors and went in.
Yes, I said shut the doors and went in; for that is what you do whenyou go into your head. The doors were of ivory, draped with tinteddamask curtains which were trimmed with black silk fringe. The curtainsfell noiselessly behind Sara as she entered.
And there in the Gugollaph-tree by the pool sat the Plynck, gazinghappily at her Echo in the water.
She was larger than most Plyncks; about the size of a small peacock.Of course you would know without being told that her plumage was of adelicate rose color, except for the lyre-shaped tuft on the top of herhead, which was of the exact color and texture of Bavarian cream. Herbeak and feet were golden, and her eyes were golden, too, and verybright and wild. The wildness and brightness of her eyes would havebeen rather frightening, if her voice, when she spoke, had not been sosoft and sweet.
"I think a little girl has forgotten something," she said gently,looking down into her Teacup.
Sara examined herself anxiously. She knew it was something aboutherself, because the Plynck's tone was exactly like Mother's when shewished to remind Sara, without seeming officious, that she had notwiped her feet on the mat, or spread out her napkin, or remembered tosay "Thank you" at the exact psychological moment.
Sara was extremely anxious to please the Plynck, because she thoughther so pensive and pretty; but, try as she would, she couldn't thinkwhat she had forgotten to do.
"Does a little girl wear her dimples in The House?" asked the Plynck,still more gently.
"Oh, of course not!" said Sara, taking them off hastily. But she couldnot help adding, as she looked around appreciatively at the silverbushes and the blue plush grass and the alabaster moon-dial by thefountain, "But this isn't The House, is it?"
"Isn't it?" asked the Plynck, glancing uneasily about her. What shesaw startled her so much that she dropped her Teacup. Of course itflew up to a higher branch and balanced itself there instead offalling; but the poor little thing was so round and fat,that--especially as it hadn't any feet--it had some difficulty atfirst in perching. As for the Plynck, she seemed so embarrassed overher mistake that Sara felt dreadfully uncomfortable for her.Recovering herself, however, in a moment, she said in her sweet,gentle way,
"Well, dear, you wouldn't want the Zizzes to fall into them, even ifthis isn't The House--would you?"
Sara hadn't noticed until then that the air was full of Zizzes; butthe minute she saw their darling little vibrating wings she knew thatshe wouldn't for anything have one of them come to grief in herdimples. They were more like hummingbirds than anything she had everseen outside of her head, but of course they were not nearly so large;most of them were about a millionth-part as large as a small mosquito.She noticed, too, that their tails were bitter. If it had not been forthe bitterness of their tails, she would not have felt so uneasy aboutthem; as it was, she held the dimples tight in her hand, with theconcave side next her palm.
"Avrillia's at home," said the Plynck gently, with her eyes on herTeacup, which she was gradually charming back into her hand. (Herhands were feet, you know, like a nightingale's, only golden; but shecalled them hands in the afternoon, to match her Teacup.) The timidlittle thing was fluttering back, coming nearer twig by twig; and ittrembled 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 notknow who Avrillia was; nevertheless, it somehow seemed delightful tohear that she was at home. But alas and alas! when she clapped herhands she forgot all about the dimples she had been holding socarefully. To tell the truth, she had never taken them off before; butshe was ashamed to let the Plynck know about that, especially as shehad lived in The House all her former life. Her first thought, indeed,when she realized what had happened, was to conceal the catastrophefrom the Plynck; but before she could get her breath that gentle birdstartled 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 thatof most Snimmies, and his nose was sharper and more debilitating, butyou would have known him at once, as Sara did, for a Snimmy. Shethought, too, that he trembled more than most of them, and that he waswhiter and more slippe
ry. Ordinarily, she had never felt afraid ofSnimmies; but the startling shriek of the Plynck, and the exposedposition 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 atthat cry the Teacup fluttered hastily down and turned itself upsidedown over the piece of dimple. And there it sat, panting a little, butlooking as plump and pleased as possible, though the Snimmy was stilldancing and sniffing ferociously around its rim.
"There!" said the Plynck in her own gentle voice, though it stillshook 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 beforethis announcement of the havoc she had wrought by her carelessness;and now to have brought down upon herself a word like that! She wasalmost ready to cry; and to keep from being quite ready, she suggested,tremulously, "Do you suppose I could go after the onions?"
The Plynck looked at her in surprise. "Why, didn't you bring them withyou?" she said. Then, suddenly, she noticed how threateningly theSnimmy was dancing and squeaking around Sara's feet, and how Sara wasshrinking away from him.
"He won't hurt you," she began. "He's perfectly kind and harmless,aside from his mania for dimples. He still smells the piece under theTeacup." Then, all at once, she grew rigid, and her golden eyes beganto leap up and down like frightened flames.
"It's the ones in your hand!" she shrieked. "In your hand! Sit downfor your life!"
Sara at first thought she had said, "Run for your life," and hadindeed taken two-elevenths of a step; but when she realized that thePlynck had said, "Sit down for your life," she sat down preciselywhere she was, as if Jimmy had pulled a chair out from under her, onthe very ice-cream brick her feet stood on. She realized that in acrisis like this obedience was the only safe thing. And the instantshe touched the pavement, the Snimmy gave a great gulping sob and hidhis face in his hands; and small, grainy tears the size of gum-dropsbegan to trickle through them and fall into his vest-pocket.
The Echo of the Plynck in the water gave a rippling laugh of relief."Well," she said, "it's a mercy you remembered that. Perhaps you don'tknow, my dear," she said, turning to Sara, "that no Snimmy can endureto see a mortal sit down. It simply breaks their hearts. See, he'seven forgotten about the dimples."
And indeed, the Snimmy was standing before her, overcome by remorse.He was holding his shoe in his hand in the most gentlemanly manner,and Sara forgave him at once when she saw how sorry and ashamed hewas.
"I--hope you'll try to--to--to excuse me, Miss," he sobbed, humblyoffering her a handful of gum-drops. "Them dimples--" here, for amoment, his nose began to wink and his feet pranced a little, but helooked closely to see that she was still sitting down, and controlledhimself. "Them dimples--" he began again; but he could say no more.The gum-drops began falling all around like hail-stones, so fast thatSara felt that she ought to help him all she could--without gettingup--to get them into his vest-pocket.
The clatter of the gum-drops again attracted the attention of thePlynck's Echo, who said, kindly, "Go and take a nap, now, Snimmy, andyou'll feel better."
The Snimmy lifted his shoe and tried to reply, but he only gave arespectful sob. So he turned away and crept back to his home in theprose-bush--where, all this time, his wife had been sitting in plainsight on her own toadstool, grimly hemming the doorknob. At her feetlay her faithful Snoodle.
Up to this time, Sara had not ventured to address the Teacup. But, asshe looked around and saw her still sitting there, so pleasant andbland and fragile, and with such a consanguineous handle, she felt asudden certainty that the Teacup would always be kind and helpful; soshe suggested timidly,
"Then we shan't need the onions?"
"Oh, dear, yes," answered the Teacup, in a soft, wrinkled voice. "We'dnever in Zeelup be able to get the pieces of the dimple to Schlorgewithout first anaesthetizing the Snimmy."
Sara jumpled: that awful word again! Her head reeled (exactly as headsdo in grown-up stories) as she realized how many things there were inthis strange place that she didn't know. Who was Schlorge, forexample? And how was she to get anything to anybody without gettingup? And "anaesthetize"?
She hated to disturb the Teacup; she was knitting so placidly, andmurmuring over and over to herself, "Never in Zeelup." She looked upinto the tree; the Plynck, too, had fallen asleep, worn out by theunwonted excitement of the morning; and her lovely Echo also slept inthe amber pool. Sara now noticed that, though the Plynck wasrose-colored, her Echo was cerulean.
The great, soft, curled plumes of the Plynck and her Echo rippled asthey breathed and slept, rather like water or fire in a little wind;and with every ripple they seemed to shake out a faint perfume thatdrifted across Sara's face in waves. And they both looked so lovelythat she could not think of disturbing them, either. So she lookedabout to see if there might be any one else who could enlighten her.
And there at her elbow, as luck would have it, stood a Koopf. Up tothis time, Sara had not been able to tell a Koopf from a Gunkus. To besure, there isn't any difference, really; but you would think that anyfairly imaginative child ought to be able to tell one. However, Saranow saw that the ground was swarming with Gunki.
"Do you know who Schlorge is?" asked Sara, rather timidly.
At first the Koopf only grinned. "Guess I do," he managed to say atlast. Then he surprised and rather startled her by winking his leftear at her. "He's the best dimplesmith ever," he said at last."He's--he's--" he began looking all about him, vaguely and a littlewildly. But, just as Sara was growing a little afraid of him, hisattention suddenly came back to her with a kind, businesslikeinterest. "Need some repairs?" he asked. "Some fractured dimples,maybe?"
"Yes, sir," said Sara, earnestly. "I have most of them here in myhand." She opened her hand and showed him the pretty little pieces.
"Where's the rest?" he inquired, with another grin. "Your plump friend,here, sitting on 'em?"
Sara nodded.
The Koopf stooped and picked up one of the gum-drops that had rolledout of the Snimmy's vest-pocket. "Thought so," he said. "Happens everynow and then. Only lately there ain't been anybody here that wasdimpliferous, to speak of."
Then, suddenly, as if somebody had told him his house was on fire, heturned and set off down the path as fast as he could run. "Bring 'emto the shop!" he shouted back over his shoulder, excitedly. "Bring 'emto the shop!"
While Sara was looking after him, and wondering where the shop mightbe, and whether she dared try to get up without waking the Snimmy, theKoopf suddenly stopped running, and started thoughtfully back up thepath toward her. "Don't know how I happened to forget it," he said,"but I--well, fact is, I'm--where's a stump? Where's a stump?" Helooked hastily about him, and this time, seeing a stump near by, heclambered upon it, thrust one hand into his bosom and the other behindhis back, like the pictures of Napoleon, and repeated, solemnly,
"I am Schlorge the Koopf, King of Dimplesmiths.
"Under the gright Gugollaph-tree The Dimplesmithy stands; The smith is harder than the sea And softer than the lands; He mends cheek-dimples frank and free, But will not work on hands."
And as soon as he had finished he started wildly down the path again,shouting back, "Bring 'em to the shop!"
Sara sat looking down the path, then at the dimples in her hand. "Well,"she said aloud, "I'm glad they're cheek-dimples, anyhow. But what inthe world shall I do about the onions?"
"What in Zeelup," corrected the Teacup gently, counting her stitches."Milder than swearing, my dear, more becoming, and quite aseffective."
Sara wanted to tell her she wasn't swearing, but just at that momentthe wife of the Snimmy remarked, with some disgust in her voice,
"Well, if you'd of asked me sooner, I could of told you. I have themin the sugar-bowl, of course. D
o you suppose I'd be without, and himsubject to such fits?"
And so saying, she replaced the doorknob, which was now neatly hemmed,on the front door of the prose-bush, and came down the steps to Sara,carrying three large onions. She was not a bad-looking person, thoughan amnicolist.
She then proceeded to slice the onions very deftly with a tuning-fork,after which she rubbed the ice-cream of the pavement with the slices,making a circle all around the Teacup, and another all around Sara,somewhat like the ring they used to burn about a fire in the grass, tokeep it from spreading. All this time she was talking to themgrumblingly, though she never once looked up.
"I should think anybody'd know better than to bring dimples aroundwhere he is," she said, "and I have my opinion of such. A poor,hardworking man like him, that tries to act moral. I should think--"
She kept on saying things like this, that made Sara feel veryuncomfortable. But at last she finished her work, and lookingwatchfully back over her shoulder at the sleeping Snimmy, she saidgrudgingly to them both, "Now get up careful."
Sara rose to her feet, and the Teacup lifted her dainty little skirtever so slightly. The minute the perfume from the dimples reached theSnimmy (he couldn't smell those in Sara's hand, of course, so long asshe was sitting down), he sprang to his feet, quivering; but almostimmediately he caught a whiff of the onions, and sank down again,entirely overcome, into a deep sleep.
The Teacup arose and shook out her skirts. She picked up the tiny,sparkling piece of dimple she had been protecting so long, and handedit prettily to Sara. "Now, my dear," she said, "I think I shall returnto my mistress. I would suggest that you take your dimples to the shopimmediately." So saying, she hopped up into the tree and settledquietly down beside the dreaming Plynck, taking great care not todisturb her. And Sara started down the path toward the Dimplesmithy.
The path turned presently into a wide road, very pleasant andpeaceful-looking, and so deep with pollen-dust that Sara's shoes soonlooked as if they were powdered with gold. Sunset sheep came wanderingdown the road now and then, and lines of white geese, and once shepassed a little pond where green ducks were quacking and paddling; theroad was so pretty, indeed, that it was hard for her to keep her mindon finding the Dimplesmithy. There were tall Gugollaph-trees all alongthe road, here and there, but Sara felt sure she would know the rightone when she saw it. And sure enough, there it was, with the smithy inthe shade of it, and the Koopf blowing up the fire in his forge with apair of puff-ball bellows. She knew now why he had hurried home sofast: it was to put on his apron. It was of the finest mouse-hide, andhe was plainly very proud of it.
He took the dimples from Sara at once, and showed a keen professionalinterest in them. He assured her that he had never seen a finer pair."But you must take better care of them," he said.
He seemed so kind and interested that Sara thought perhaps he wouldhelp her with a problem she had been revolving in her mind ever sincethe accident. (She had fastened the problem on a little stick with apin, like the paper windmills Jimmy made, so that she could turn itaround very easily, and so see all sides of it.) So she asked theKoopf, quite respectfully,
"What ought I to do with them, when I shut the doors and come in?"
"Well," said the Koopf, judiciously, "the Plynck's Echo should haveseen to that, first thing. Ought to have had a dimple-holder at thegate. Ought to know the Snimmy, by this time. A good fellow--can'thelp his failing. We used to keep a dimple-holder there all the time,but it's been so long, as I told you, since we've had anybody comealong that was dimpliferous, to speak of. We've got sort of careless,I guess. I've got a very nice stock, here; I'll put one up before yougo, so you'll know where to find it next time." As he spoke he tookdown from a shelf behind him a sort of receptacle which looked ratherlike a soap-bubble, rather like a gazing-globe; except that it had atiny opening at the top, and a cushion of whipped cream in the bottom.Then he picked up from his bench the dimples, which he had beenmending as he talked.
"It's a good thing the Snimmy can't see 'em now," he said, holdingthem off at arm's length and looking at them with frank admiration."They're as good as new. Now let me show you what to do with 'em nexttime you come."
So saying, he dropped them into the holder, where they looked verypretty sparkling on the whipped cream cushion.
"Now," he said, "you carry them, and I'll bring the pedestal."
He tucked the pedestal under his arm, and they started back down theroad together. It was very lovely to be trudging along under the lateclear sky, through the sweet-smelling pollen-dust, and now and thenmeeting the sunset sheep, who, by this time, had found their littlelambs. When they got back to the Garden, and stood in front of thegate through which Sara had entered, Schlorge had Sara sit down atonce. It was really an unnecessary precaution, he said, since theholder was a non-conductor of dimple-waves, and not even the Snimmycould detect their presence when they were inside of it. "Still," saidSchlorge, "I'll feel safer about 'em when they're on the pedestal outof his reach," and with that he took the globe from Sara's hands andfastened it deftly on the pedestal. Sara had never enjoyed herselfmore than she did as she sat by the amber waters in the fading light,watching the kind, clumsy Koopf (who was yet so skilful at his ownwork) place the pretty globe with so much pride and pleasure. She keptsniffing, meanwhile, at the tantalizing perfume that seemed to siftdownward from the feathers of the Plynck, as she stirred, ever sosoftly, in her dreams.
At last the Koopf took a large slice of onion, which the Snimmy's wifehad left convenient, and rubbed it all around the base of thepedestal.
"Now," he said, "if you'll always remember to stand inside of thatcircle, when you take 'em off and put 'em on, there won't be any moretrouble. And take 'em off as soon as you shut the doors. If youdilly-dally a minute--"
At that moment the Plynck awoke and saw Sara. She stretched her warm,shimmering feathers and smiled.
"Avrillia's at home," she said, gently.
The Garden of the Plynck Page 1