Pirlaps had made to take her to see his relations; and she had been
growing more and more curious and interested.

And this time she did remember her dimples; she saw them sparkling on
the whipped cream cushion, all safe and contented, before she so much
as lifted her eyes from the blue plush grass. But alas, for her
resolution not to loiter! For although, on the other days, there had
been such a variegated murmur of delighted sound--the Echo of the
Plynck in the pool, and the lovely crackling of breaking rules, and
the deep-blue singing of the Zizzes' wings, and the melodious snoring
of the Snoodle (like that of a tuning-fork when it sleeps on its side)
--yet everything had been as still and motionless to the eye as an
April daydream. But this morning it was the other way around. Not a
sound was to be heard; but what a scene! You see, for the first time,
the Snoodle was awake, frisking soundlessly around the fountain; and
the Plynck--the Plynck was flying!

Now, it is true that a Plynck at rest is a beautiful sight; but it is
nothing to the charm and wonder of a Plynck in motion. (The same, as
we shall see in a moment, is true in a lesser degree of a Snoodle.)
Its long, rosy plumes, like those of an ostrich, only four times as
long, went waving through the air with an indescribably dreamy grace;
and now Sara could actually see the perfume, which before she had only
smelled. It rained down through the air, as the Plynck circled slowly
round and round the fountain, and looked rather like a sort of golden
spice. And as Sara stood watching, spellbound and sniffing, she knew
she had been mistaken in thinking that, there was no sound at all.
There was just one: a little soft, straining sound the Plynck's
cerulean Echo made as it circled round and round in the pool and tried
to keep up with the Plynck. Her motions would have been exactly as