The Garden of the Plynck

by Karle Wilson Baker

He then began leading her in a sort of triumphal march around the pool, while the rest fell in behind them and formed a procession. As there were so many of the Gunki and Avrillia's children it was quite a long procession, so that the only way they could tell the head from the tail of it was by remembering that Sara was the head and that the Snimmy's wife was the tail. The Echo, who could not leave the pool to march, spread out the lyre-shaped feathers on the top of her head and played the most beautiful rippling chords for them to march by.

And suddenly, when they had gone three times around the fountain, Pirlaps said, "Take the seat of honor, Sara, and receive our gifts." And there, in front of the Gugollaph-tree, was an enormous frosted cake, as big around as a wagon-wheel. Sara was sure it had not been there when the march began. She would have rubbed her eyes, had she not felt that such a conventional proceeding would be wholly inadequate.

"Take your seat, Sara," said Pirlaps kindly, enjoying her delight and astonishment.

Sara came to herself with a start. "Wh-where?" she asked. She was anxious not to appear awkward, but she did not see any particular place to sit.

"On the cake, dear, of course," said Pirlaps, who seemed never to tire of smiling at her odd little questions.

Sara had never done this before, but she was willing to try; and she was just about to climb upon the cake when another thought deterred her.

"But the candles? Won't my dress catch?"

"Try and see," said Pirlaps; but Avrillia whispered in her ear, "They aren't flames, dear: they're only colored perfumes."

So, reassured, Sara took her seat on the cake; and at once she saw that it made a very nice sort of throne. The frosting was resilient, but firm; and she now saw that the candles were arranged so that they made a sort of semicircle about her. Just as Avrillia had said, she could pass her hands across their wicks without being burned at all; they only winked and breathed out sweet odors—each flame a different color and scent. They were as tall as her head, as she sat among them; and the one at her right ear was of isthagaria, while the one on the left faintly suggested tinnulalia-flowers.

Before she had finished examining the candles, the Plynck flew down with the first present. "A lock of my hair," she said, looking eager, but a little embarrassed; and she actually perched on the rim of the pool while Sara unwrapped it, so that she might see whether or not she was pleased. But I do not need to tell you that Sara was; for it was one of her loveliest tail-feathers, a rich, curling plume of the deepest rose, from which sweet odors were shaken out as Sara lifted it to the light. Weeks afterward, when Sara astonished her mother by begging for the pink plume on her prettiest hat, what she was really pining for was a lock of the Plynck's hair.