All this time she was talking to them
grumblingly, though she never once looked up.
"I should think anybody'd know better than to bring dimples around
where he is," she said, "and I have my opinion of such. A poor,
hardworking man like him, that tries to act moral. I should think--"
She kept on saying things like this, that made Sara feel very
uncomfortable. But at last she finished her work, and looking
watchfully back over her shoulder at the sleeping Snimmy, she said
grudgingly to them both, "Now get up careful."
Sara rose to her feet, and the Teacup lifted her dainty little skirt
ever so slightly. The minute the perfume from the dimples reached the
Snimmy (he couldn't smell those in Sara's hand, of course, so long as
she was sitting down), he sprang to his feet, quivering; but almost
immediately he caught a whiff of the onions, and sank down again,
entirely overcome, into a deep sleep.
The Teacup arose and shook out her skirts. She picked up the tiny,
sparkling piece of dimple she had been protecting so long, and handed
it prettily to Sara. "Now, my dear," she said, "I think I shall return
to my mistress. I would suggest that you take your dimples to the shop
immediately." So saying, she hopped up into the tree and settled
quietly down beside the dreaming Plynck, taking great care not to
disturb her.
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