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As she passed through the hedge she cast a backward look at the Garden, which was now so still that she thought it looked like a picture in a dream shimmering and bright and clear, without a soul left at home but the Plynck's cerulean Echo and the sleeping Snoodle.
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. And then she made a speech on the Toast's subject. 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.
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.
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!
She had known from the first, just from his general expression, that the Snoodle was going to lead her to something interesting; but she was not prepared for this. It was clear, of course, that she was expected to ride the creature; but what it was she could not at first make out. It was about the size of a large hobby-horse, and, in respect to its beautiful, wavy mane and tail, much resembled it.
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 day she had been acclaimed a heroine once because she had tamed a caterpillar, and once because she was older than the Snoodle. Something told Sara, the next morning, to take every one of her dolls.
The Snimmy's wife sat on her own toadstool, rigid and angry-looking, with her tail wound tightly around the base, and with the half-hemmed doorknob forgotten in her lap; the Snimmy lay watchfully at the door of the prose-bush, with his long, debilitating nose on his paws, shivering terribly; and the Snoodle looked as if somebody had put salt on his mother.
"Where's the Snimmy?" he asked, sharply. "He's gone with his wife to bathe the Snoodle," answered the Echo of the Plynck. "They have to bathe it every three days, you know, in castor oil. That's what keeps it white. And there isn't any here." "Thank goodness!" thought Sara, who had nearly jumped off the stump at the sound of those baleful syllables.
Just as she gathered up the reins the Snoodle leaped up behind her exactly as the trained dog in the circus leaps up behind the monkey on the big Newfoundland. The soft wind whistled through her hair, and blew past her so strongly that she was not even conscious of the Snoodle's drawback, though he sat so close to her.
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!
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