"The Gunki will bring 'em," said Schlorge, decisively. "Here, you!" he
shouted; and a swarm of Gunki came tumbling out from under the
adjacent bushes. "Bring your coal-scuttles!" he shouted; and each
Gunkus scuttled back, reappearing in a moment with the desired
receptacle.

"Good!" said Pirlaps. "Stand at attention until I give you further
orders." And each Gunkus stood perfectly still and straight, holding
his coal-scuttle by the handle between his teeth, and dropping his
eyes into it. They hit the bottom of the scuttle with a ringing,
martial sound.

"Now," said Pirlaps, "how many hands for the bellows? Avrillia will be
busy writing poems; Mrs. Snimmy will be busy grinding them. That
leaves Schlorge, Sara, Mr. Snimmy and myself. Four pairs of
bellows--how fortunate!" He then explained to the Gunki that they were
to march straight to Avrillia's balcony and form an unbroken line from
there to the Snimmy's wife's coffee-mill, on the front porch of the
prose-bush; and that they were to pass the scuttles full of loaded
rose-leaves in a steady stream, as fast as they could. The last Gunkus
was to empty the scuttles into the coffee-mill.

In a very short time they had this plan in execution. When they
slipped back into the Garden they found that the Fractions had been
drinking so heavily that many of them were snoring loudly under the
multiplication tables; and the rest were carousing so uproariously
that they took no notice whatever of the preparations for their
overthrow. The Snimmy's wife took her station grimly at the
coffee-mill; Pirlaps, Schlorge, Sara and the Snimmy grouped themselves
about her, and in a very few minutes the first scuttleful of poems