The Garden of the Plynck

by Karle Wilson Baker

Avrillia came next with her present. It was a little urn of jade and ivory, and it was full to the top of dried poems written on rose-leaves. Have you ever seen the quaint rose-jars some old-fashioned ladies have in their parlors? Well, some one of them, when she was little, saw one of Avrillia's poem-jars; and she made these others in a homesick effort to imitate it. And the fragrance—like nothing else you ever smelled—is the perfume of Avrillia's poems, as nearly as that little old-fashioned lady, after she grew up, could remember it.

You would not expect me to remember all of the presents Sara got that day. But a good many I can remember. Pirlaps brought her a picture he had painted; a very beautiful view of Nothing from Avrillia's balcony. Yassuh brought her a delicious Crumb; it was wrapped in a sticky paper covered with his finger-prints, but inside the paper was one of Avrillia's exquisite napkins of embroidered mist. The First Gunkus, remembering how she had loved the mountain, brought her a little live Laugh. He had climbed the mountain and trapped it for her, and made her a little cage to take it home with. It was very funny to hear it tittering about inside. The rest of the Gunki had clubbed together and bought her a gold-headed tuning-fork, so that she might be sure their answers were in tune. The Snimmy's wife brought her three large onions, neatly hemmed and tied in a bouquet with purple ribbon; the Snimmy himself a striped paper bag full of gum-drops. And the Snoodle's present was too cunning for anything! It was a little silver plum-extractor. With it a child could extract all the fattest raisins from her piece of mince-pie or portion of rice pudding without having to bother with the uninteresting remainder and being reprimanded; for the ingenious little instrument was invisible to adults. All the other presents were marked "For Sara, with our congratulations, because she is older than the Snoodle." But this one was marked, in a round, childish hand, "For my dear Sara—because she is older than me."

But the grand surprise came when, near the last, four Gunki hurried in bearing a large chest, which they placed at Sara's feet. "It came by the Gahoppigas Express, Miss, with no message," they explained. And when Sara opened it she found that it was full of butterfly money—the loveliest pieces of gold and silver that the frittilaries and papilios had collected from their own wings. Just inside the lid was a lily leaf bearing the inscription,

"For Sara, from a grateful Nation,
Because she is older than the Snoodle."

Sara distributed handfuls of the beautiful little coins among them and again they cheered her for her generosity. Sara felt that she really did not deserve the cheering, however, as she seemed to have as many as ever—even after she had filled Mrs. Snimmy's apron and a shoe apiece for each Gunkus.

When the excitement over the money had subsided a little, Pirlaps announced; "The Banquet is now ready!" and again offering Sara his arm, he led her at the head of another procession three times around the fountain; and the third time, as before, there beside the cake was the banquet table—all spread and loaded down and glittering. Of course it was quite a long table, with a good many covers; there had to be one for each of Avrillia's children and for every one of the Gunki. The covers were very thin (being made of cobweb, of course) still, having so many, spread one on top of the other, made the table quite high, so that there were step-ladders instead of chairs. As there was a step-ladder for each guest, and as they were made of gold and silver, arranged alternately, the effect was very unique and elaborate.

Sara, being the guest of honor, was assigned the most inconspicuous place, three step-ladders south of the centre. When they were seated, and Sara's mouth was fairly watering at the sight of all the fairy delicacies the table displayed, Pirlaps, as master of ceremonies, rose and said, "You understand, Sara, that, on occasions like this, the guest of honor eats nothing but Toast."

Now, just imagine how disappointed Sara was! She really was having a hard time to wink back the tears, when Avrillia, who often understood more than the others, leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Wait till you taste it, Sara!"

Avrillia's eyes sparkled so that Sara was quite reassured; besides, she suddenly remembered the butterfly butter, and how her distress had been turned into rapture on that occasion. And when Avrillia added, "Besides, you have Birdsong wine with it!" she felt as happy as ever, and quite confident that there would be some delightful surprise about it.

When Pirlaps announced the first Toast, however, and the first slice walked heavily out from behind the little screen at the toastmaster's elbow, Sara again felt a sinking of the heart; for, except that he walked on his lower right-hand corner, as he had been trained to do, and made a rather awkward and laborious bow when his name was announced, he looked otherwise so exactly like a plain, brown, fat, every-day-in-the-year piece of breakfast toast that it was hard to be enthusiastic about him—at least in the presence of all the exotic-looking dainties the other guests were to have! 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. The way she responded was this: the Toast balanced himself with difficulty on his lower corner, and said, in a throaty voice, "How do you do, Madame Plynck?" and the Plynck bowed (much more gracefully) and responded, "How do you do, Toast?" And then she made a speech on the Toast's subject. While she was making the speech (which was lovely—she fairly soared) the Toast tottered over to Sara's plate and lay down in it, without any further sign of life or animation. 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. For, just as Avrillia had hinted, the toast, in spite of its appearance, was really Angel Food cake; and as she ate it, Sara found at her elbow a bottle marked "Birdsong Wine—Bluebird." As the Gunki were all eating, they couldn't wait on her, so she poured it into her glass herself; and when she had taken a sip, it tasted just like April! You may imagine that, from that time on, Sara had no further anxiety about what she was to eat, and that her mind was now entirely free to enjoy the Toasts. The second Toast was announced, indeed, before she had recovered from her first surprise and delight. The subject of this Toast was, "Sara's Dimples—May I Never Get Them"; and of course it was responded to by the Snimmy. There was no variety either in the looks or in the performance of the Toasts; I must admit that they were very heavy, awkward, and short of breath, and were as much alike as the trained sea-lions at a circus. However, you felt that, like the sea-lions, they were doing very well to perform at all. (Avrillia whispered to Sara that Pirlaps, as toastmaster, had spent days and days preparing them; so Sara suspected that Pirlaps, at least, had known all along that she was older than the Snoodle.) The speeches, on the other hand, were marvels of variety and interest. The Snimmy's, of course, was sad—even heartrending; and he was sniffing before he had finished saying, "How do you do, Toast?" and shedding gum-drops like hail-stones before he was half through. His Toast, however, was orange-cake, unusually delicious; and the wine served with it was a sparkling cherry-colored beverage marked "Cardinal." It was so heady that it even had a topknot, and it served admirably to counteract the depressing effect of the Snimmy's speech. The next Toast was responded to by the First and Second Gunki; and its subject was, "Sara's Tears—May There Be No Mad and Few Sad." The speech was in the form of a duet, rendered by the Gunki with deep feeling, and accompanied by the Plynck and her Echo with liquid-sounding arpeggios on their lyres, that were most appropriate. The Toast was old-fashioned jelly-cake, with Robinsong wine. Avrillia responded to a thin slice, whose subject was "Nothing"; everybody clapped when this subject was announced, for they felt that the subject was in the hands of an authority, and would be handled in a masterly manner. Nor were they disappointed; Avrillia's speech was in the form of a long poem, which she recited from memory, looking very wild and lovely. The Toast was silver-cake, with Veerie wine. Pirlaps himself, although he was toastmaster, responded to a Toast called "Sara's Questions—Bless Their Hearts!" and his Toast was chocolate-cake, with Wren wine. 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! And the Teacup, having responded to a Toast with the subject, "If Only My Saucer Could Have Known Sara," made a very graceful but agitated little speech that brought out many cobweb pocket-handkerchiefs.