Sara's heart sank; for she really thought the search would be a sort
of picnic, and she had hoped that the lovely Plynck would go, too. It
sank clear to the bottom of the pool, and the Plynck's Echo fished it
up and handed it back to her, all wet and shiny, just as the Plynck
finished her sentence, "So I think I'll go."

Sara clapped her hands, and to add to her pleasure she heard just then
the most delicious crashing sound: the kind of sound she had imagined
when she stood at the top of the basement steps at home with the glass
pitcher in her hands, wishing she could hurl it down upon the cement
because Mother would not let her wear her new short-sleeved dress. She
saw at once that the Plynck had broken the largest rule she had, and
dropped it upon the pile at the foot of the tree; and now she was
moving her plumes softly for flight, so that the golden spice was
falling in Sara's hair. The Teacup was looking intensely pleased and
flustered, and both of them had forgotten the poor Echo, who was
scrambling about the rim of the pool like a swimmer trying to draw
himself out of the water by a slippery bank. When she saw Sara looking
at her, however, she stopped trying, and sat down stiffly in her usual
place.

"I can't go, of course," she said with dignity, "but go ahead--don't
mind me."

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry!" said the Plynck, hovering over her
softly. "I wish you could!"

"Go ahead," said the Echo, trying hard not to look sulky and virtuous;
and so Sara ran down the path after the others, with the Plynck and
the Teacup fluttering gracefully over her head. As she passed through