"Poor little thing!" said the Echo of the Plynck. "Why will they
persist in doing it? Flying right into the syrup like that!"
"It's on account of the bitterness of their tails," explained Schlorge
absently, without looking up from his work.
"Oh, yes," said Sara, though she didn't quite understand. "Will it
ever be able to fly again?"
"Well," answered Schlorge, "I'm afraid you'll have to dry it." He
looked about him. "Where's the stump?"
He found it presently, and led Sara to its mossy base; then he gently
pressed one of her shoe-buttons, and she was lifted upon it in safety.
"Now," he explained, "you got it all sticky with your smile, and you'll
have to frown on it to dry it. I know it's hard to do, here, but if you
keep your mind on it, you can. I'll hold the Zizz's wings out, and it
won't take long. Think of something very unpleasant--something you came
here to escape. Come, what shall it be?"
"Fractions," said Sara.
"All right," said Schlorge. "Now think hard. And frown."
So Sara sucked in the corners of her mouth to keep from smiling, and
tried hard to feel very cross indeed. But, as you will imagine, it was
not easy to do in that place. As you have already guessed, the place
into which Sara went when she shut the ivory doors was a sort of
garden, but not an ordinary one.
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