The Teacup fluttered down, and they all looked at it with mingled
sympathy and curiosity. The mixture seemed to agree with it, too, for
the familiar faint, pale-blue "zizzing" sound began to come from its
wings.

"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."