"Why--!" exclaimed Sara. "I thought you just said--" Not for worlds
would she have seemed rude or impolite to the Plynck, but she was
completely puzzled.
The Plynck looked very kind. "I said I make it a rule," she said,
gently. "I didn't say--you explain it to her," she said suddenly to
her Echo in the pool, who had been looking on with rather an amused
expression.
The Echo fluffed out her deep blue plumes a little and took up the
task. "What are rules for, my dear?" she began.
"Why--to keep, I guess," ventured Sara, a little flustered. "Aren't
they?"
The Echo glanced up at the Plynck with a twinkling smile. "Do you hear
that?" she asked. "Bless the child! She says rules are made to keep!"
She laughed to herself a little longer, then she turned to Sara more
soberly. "As far as your country is concerned, my dear, you are
doubtless right, and I suppose it's important for you to keep that
fact in mind. But here it's very different. Our rules are made to
break. Don't you hear the Plynck breaking them?"
So that was what she was doing! For the first time, Sara understood
why she had so enjoyed the delightful little snapping sounds, which
made her think of corn dancing against the lid of a corn-popper--or of
the snapping of little dry twigs under the pointed shoes of a brownie,
slipping through the woods alone on Christmas Eve.
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