(Her
hands were feet, you know, like a nightingale's, only golden; but she
called them hands in the afternoon, to match her Teacup.) The timid
little thing was fluttering back, coming nearer twig by twig; and it
trembled up to the Plynck just as she said, softly and absent-mindedly,
"Avrillia's at home."
"Oh, is she?" exclaimed Sara, clapping her hands with joy. She did not
know who Avrillia was; nevertheless, it somehow seemed delightful to
hear that she was at home. But alas and alas! when she clapped her
hands she forgot all about the dimples she had been holding so
carefully. To tell the truth, she had never taken them off before; but
she was ashamed to let the Plynck know about that, especially as she
had lived in The House all her former life. Her first thought, indeed,
when she realized what had happened, was to conceal the catastrophe
from the Plynck; but before she could get her breath that gentle bird
startled her almost out of her wits by shrieking,
"Watch out! the Snimmy will get it!"
And there, at Sara's feet, where a bit of the dimple lay on the taffy
(looking very much like a fragile bit of a Christmas-tree ornament),
was a real Snimmy, vest-pocket and all. His tail was longer than that
of most Snimmies, and his nose was sharper and more debilitating, but
you would have known him at once, as Sara did, for a Snimmy.
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