Recovering herself, however, in a moment, she said in her sweet,
gentle way,

"Well, dear, you wouldn't want the Zizzes to fall into them, even if
this isn't The House--would you?"

Sara hadn't noticed until then that the air was full of Zizzes; but
the minute she saw their darling little vibrating wings she knew that
she wouldn't for anything have one of them come to grief in her
dimples. They were more like hummingbirds than anything she had ever
seen outside of her head, but of course they were not nearly so large;
most of them were about a millionth-part as large as a small mosquito.
She noticed, too, that their tails were bitter. If it had not been for
the bitterness of their tails, she would not have felt so uneasy about
them; as it was, she held the dimples tight in her hand, with the
concave side next her palm.

"Avrillia's at home," said the Plynck gently, with her eyes on her
Teacup, which she was gradually charming back into her hand. (Her
hands were feet, you know, like a nightingale's, only golden; but she
called them hands in the afternoon, to match her Teacup.) The timid
little thing was fluttering back, coming nearer twig by twig; and it
trembled up to the Plynck just as she said, softly and absent-mindedly,
"Avrillia's at home."

"Oh, is she?" exclaimed Sara, clapping her hands with joy. She did not
know who Avrillia was; nevertheless, it somehow seemed delightful to
hear that she was at home. But alas and alas! when she clapped her
hands she forgot all about the dimples she had been holding so
carefully. To tell the truth, she had never taken them off before; but