“Our grandfather,” whispered the Gunki, behind their hands.  This time they whispered in second bass and tenor.

“Yes, the grandfather of these dear boys,” said the susceptible old lady.  “He was showing the little girl about the Garden, and so had his shoe in his hand out of respect for her; so he caught the tear in his shoe with the greatest presence of mind, and ran down here with it before any actual harm was done.  What the child was crying about I can’t imagine; though, for that matter, why any nice child should bring tears into the Garden—­”

“Would it be worse than the Fractions?” asked Sara, hastily.

“It would,” said the First Gunkus, in bass.

“It would,” said the Second Gunkus, in the solemnest second bass.

“Much, much worse,” said the Teacup, in her soft, anxious tremolo.  “One snow remedied that, you see; but if a tear fell—­but oh, dear, let’s don’t talk about it!  My handle is so consanguineous, and I forgot to ask the Plynck—­and—­and—­”

The poor old lady was evidently growing hysterical herself; so the faithful Gunki hastily put up their hatbands, seized Sara by the arm, and again began hurrying toward the Rainbow Gate.  The Teacup, having again to put her mind on the task of keeping up with them, regained her composure—­at least as much of it as she had ever had since her Saucer was broken.

Once inside the little arch, the Gunki stopped and relaxed their hold on Sara’s arm.  “Now you can cry, Miss,” they said, with evident relief.

“But I don’t want to, now,” said Sara, wonderingly.

“Treatment successful,” said the First Gunkus.

“That’s what usually happens,” explained the Teacup.  “At least I’ve heard my Saucer say that that’s what happened to the other little girl.  But here, boys, you must attend to these two she’s already cried.”

The two Gunki stepped up with alacrity, a little ashamed of having to be reminded of their duties.

“Mad or sad?” they asked.

“Wh-what?” stammered Sara.

“Mad or sad?” repeated the Gunki, twirling their thumbs.

“They mean, my dear,” explained the Teacup, “were you crying because you were angry, or for some more or less legitimate reason—­because you cut your finger, for instance, or broke one of the charming children you had with you the other day?  Because—­”

“It was because Jimmy wouldn’t play what I wanted—­” began Sara, hanging her head, and thinking she might as well get it out and over with.

“Mad!” commented the Gunki in unison, with great professional interest.  “Then they’ll have to go to the fishes.  Steady, now—­”

As he said the last words the First Gunkus stepped up and deftly removed the tear from Sara’s right eyelashes, while the Second Gunkus, with almost equal skill, captured the one from her left ones.  They ran with them toward the little stream, and Sara was so curious to know what they meant to do with them that she followed unconsciously.