“What are you going to do, Schlorge?” asked the Japanese doll, who was a good sort of a person, but a little lacking in tact.

“Never mind me,” said Schlorge, “the rest of you take a nap!”

Sara saw that his professional pride, as the leader and practical man of the party, had been hurt by the escape of her laugh; and he spoke so crossly that they all turned around and began to try to make conversation to cover their embarrassment.  But they didn’t succeed very well; and presently the Baby spoke the thought that was uppermost in everybody’s mind.

“I’m hungry!” he said.

Alas, so were they all!  It was no use trying to disguise it!  So the Snimmy said, almost tearfully, “Why didn’t we think to bring some lunch?”

“Humph!” retorted his wife.  “You’d never think of anything—­except dimples!”

So saying, she took down a large hamper which she had been carrying on her head, and removed the cloth which was tucked neatly over it.  They had all noticed the hamper, but supposed it was Avrillia’s wash, which the Snimmy’s wife always took home on Poppyday.

Now it proved to be packed full of a rich and varied picnic luncheon, the sight and aroma of which made even the Brown Teddy-Bear look eager.  The Snimmy’s wife set all the viands out on the grass, and the Plynck graciously drifted down and took her place at the head of the table.  There was a trifle too much sand in the sandwiches, but everything else was perfect; and they all ate as immoderately as people do at picnics.

Sara found herself seated next to the Brown Teddy-Bear.  After he had eaten a pickle or two and begun to look cheerful, she asked him, tactfully, what he had had so long on his mind.

“I’ll tell you, Sara,” said the Brown Teddy-Bear candidly and mournfully.  “I’m so ephemeral.”

Sara opened her eyes, and looked at him carefully.  What new affliction was this?  “Do you mean you’re sick?” she asked, after a while.

“No, Sara,” said the Teddy-Bear, smiling sadly.  “You don’t understand.  What I mean is, I’m already old-fashioned; I’ve had my day.  Twenty years from now, nobody will know what you mean when you speak of a Teddy-Bear.”

“I will,” said Sara, squeezing his paw affectionately.

“Well, perhaps you will, Sara,” admitted the Teddy-Bear, “because you’ll remember.  But the children won’t, and they’re the only ones that matter.”

“I’ll tell mine,” insisted Sara stoutly.

“Ah, yes, Sara,” said the Teddy-Bear, still more sadly, “but such loyalty as yours is rare.  I have but a frail hold upon posterity.  The same is true of many of my colleagues—­the Billiken, for instance, and the Kewp.  But the Billiken is a philosopher, and doesn’t care; and the Kewp is a careless child.  But I feel it, Sara; I have to confess to you that I am a prey to the ‘last infirmity of noble minds.’” After a moment he added, less sadly but more irritably, “That creature, now, brainless as it is, is just a doll.  And dolls are immortal.”