By this time they had passed through the hawthorn hedge that bounded the Garden, and could see just below them a beautiful little Vale, with a rainbow arching over the entrance to it, like a gate. Inside the Vale the view was not very distinct, for streamers of light mist blew across its green moss, and its white boulders, and the little stream that wound down the middle of it. It was rather a sad-looking little place, of course, but not bitter-looking or very long; and now and then a sun-pencil struck across it, and for a moment made more rainbows like the one at the entrance.
As soon as they had passed through the hedge the Gunki stopped, breathing heavily and mopping their brows with their hatbands.
"Rest a minute, dear, and try to keep them from falling," said the Teacup, who was also breathless, but very kind. "Of course, if they should fall here it wouldn't be so bad; still, if you can keep them on your lashes till we reach the Vale—"
"What would they do," asked Sara, in awe, "if they fell in the
Garden?"
The Teacup and the Gunki looked at each other with wide, horrified eyes, each waiting for the other to speak.
"Well, you see, none ever have fallen in the Garden," said the Teacup, at last, speaking in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper. "Before my Saucer was broken—"
"She's a widow, Miss," explained the Gunki, whispering to Sara behind their hands. One whispered in baritone, one in bass.
"Before my Saucer was broken," continued the Teacup, with a grateful look at the thoughtful Gunki, "I've heard him say that a little girl came into the Garden one day with tears in her eyes, and that one would have fallen, if a Gunkus had not caught it in his shoe. Haven't you noticed the old, gray-haired Gunkus, who always wears a wooden medal on his coat-tail—"
"Our grandfather," whispered the Gunki, behind their hands. This time they whispered in second bass and tenor.
"Yes, the grandfather of these dear boys," said the susceptible old lady. "He was showing the little girl about the Garden, and so had his shoe in his hand out of respect for her; so he caught the tear in his shoe with the greatest presence of mind, and ran down here with it before any actual harm was done. What the child was crying about I can't imagine; though, for that matter, why any nice child should bring tears into the Garden—"