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The Second Gunkus dropped his shoe, and fumbled about trying to pick it up. "Don't we, though!" said both of them, at last. So Sara gave the faithful creatures two kisses apiece, which left them beaming. "Do do you like them as well as dimples?" she asked. "Because, if you'd like dimples, I'll give you some of the Snimmy's."
She began to feel sure that she had in some way hurt or offended them; and while she was wondering how she could have done it, and how she might make amends, the First Gunkus saw her looking at him. "I'd be willing to do anything I could for you, Miss," he blurted out, turning his shoe awkwardly round and round in his hand.
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.
The Snimmy's wife said there were plenty of onions at home in the sugar-bowl, and Schlorge offered to send a Gunkus after them; but the Kewpie would not hear of it, so Schlorge mended him quite quickly and neatly without an anaesthetic at all. He declared himself able to walk, at once, but they persuaded him to let the Gunki carry him to the gate on the stretcher.
There seemed to be children playing in it, and a few lambs; and down the path toward it waddled a long line of snowy geese. Altogether, it seemed to Sara she had never beheld so peaceful and ravishing a scene. "This way out," said the First Gunkus, touching Sara's arm, and pointing up to a signpost, marked "Exit," beside the path.
"Children don't go in there, dear," said the Teacup, as Sara stood gazing at it, fascinated. But indeed she had no wish to go in; and it was with a skip of joy that she heard the First Gunkus say, "Time's up, Miss!" At that word, back they all went scampering through the Vale, till they came to a bridge, which was made of another rainbow.
I want to go!" "There, there, dear," said the Teacup, soothingly, looking as if she had been dreading the worst, and it had come. "We has orders, Miss," said the First Gunkus, stepping up, "that we must keep you here three-quarters of an hour, and show you the whole Vale, Miss." "Whose orders?" faltered Sara. For a moment the Gunki looked quite wild and disorganized.
"Would it be worse than the Fractions?" asked Sara, hastily. "It would," said the First Gunkus, in bass. "It would," said the Second Gunkus, in the solemnest second bass. "Much, much worse," said the Teacup, in her soft, anxious tremolo. "One snow remedied that, you see; but if a tear fell but oh, dear, let's don't talk about it!
So she looked about 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 to this time, Sara had not been able to tell a Koopf from a Gunkus. To be sure, there isn't any difference, really; but you would think that any fairly imaginative child ought to be able to tell one.
As he said the last words the First Gunkus stepped up and deftly removed the tear from Sara's right eyelashes, while the Second Gunkus, with almost equal skill, captured the one from her left ones. They ran with them toward the little stream, and Sara was so curious to know what they meant to do with them that she followed unconsciously.
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