he was plainly very proud of it.

He took the dimples from Sara at once, and showed a keen professional
interest in them. He assured her that he had never seen a finer pair.
"But you must take better care of them," he said.

He seemed so kind and interested that Sara thought perhaps he would
help her with a problem she had been revolving in her mind ever since
the accident. (She had fastened the problem on a little stick with a
pin, like the paper windmills Jimmy made, so that she could turn it
around very easily, and so see all sides of it.) So she asked the
Koopf, quite respectfully,

"What ought I to do with them, when I shut the doors and come in?"

"Well," said the Koopf, judiciously, "the Plynck's Echo should have
seen to that, first thing. Ought to have had a dimple-holder at the
gate. Ought to know the Snimmy, by this time. A good fellow--can't
help his failing. We used to keep a dimple-holder there all the time,
but it's been so long, as I told you, since we've had anybody come
along that was dimpliferous, to speak of. We've got sort of careless,
I guess. I've got a very nice stock, here; I'll put one up before you
go, so you'll know where to find it next time." As he spoke he took
down from a shelf behind him a sort of receptacle which looked rather
like a soap-bubble, rather like a gazing-globe; except that it had a
tiny opening at the top, and a cushion of whipped cream in the bottom.
Then he picked up from his bench the dimples, which he had been
mending as he talked.

"It's a good thing the Snimmy can't see 'em now," he said, holding