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And Sara started down the path toward the Dimplesmithy. The path turned presently into a wide road, very pleasant and peaceful-looking, and so deep with pollen-dust that Sara's shoes soon looked as if they were powdered with gold.
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.
Sunset sheep came wandering down the road now and then, and lines of white geese, and once she passed a little pond where green ducks were quacking and paddling; the road was so pretty, indeed, that it was hard for her to keep her mind on finding the Dimplesmithy. There were tall Gugollaph-trees all along the road, here and there, but Sara felt sure she would know the right one when she saw it.
Sara and her other friends stood knitting their brows in perplexity. Suddenly the Snimmy's wife spoke again. "Send for Schlorge," she said. "He'll know what to do." No sooner were the words out of her mouth than they saw a Gunkus running down the path toward the Dimplesmithy to tell Schlorge. "In the meantime, Sara, you'd better dress me more suitably," suggested the Billiken kindly.
And Avrillia's house had sails, instead of curtains. For, without knowing it, it was Avrillia's balcony that Sara had seen from the stump. "Well, there's Pirlaps," said Schlorge, lifting his shoe politely and turning back toward the Dimplesmithy. "He'll tell you where to find Avrillia."
"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!
When they reached the Dimplesmithy, they sent the Snimmy to sniff out the neighborhood carefully with his debilitating nose, to see if there were any spies about; and when he returned, Pirlaps carefully unfolded his plan. "I am convinced," he said earnestly, "from what I have observed this morning, that Poetry will be absolutely fatal to these hateful intruders who have descended upon us.
Schlorge jumped down and began scrambling his tools together; then he went rushing wildly, as usual, down the road to the Dimplesmithy. "Go see her, Sara!" he shouted back over his shoulder encouragingly. "You'll enjoy it! Go on!" And from there she looked out upon another exhilarating scene.
"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.
There were not so many Gugollaph-trees as there were in the Garden and along the road to the Dimplesmithy, owing to the different topography of the country; instead, there were a good many poker-bushes. "My relations live in a colony," said Pirlaps. "There used to be nearly seven hundred of them; but now there are only eight hundred and three."
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