When Pirlaps announced the first Toast, however, and the first slice walked heavily out from behind the little screen at the toastmaster’s elbow, Sara again felt a sinking of the heart; for, except that he walked on his lower right-hand corner, as he had been trained to do, and made a rather awkward and laborious bow when his name was announced, he looked otherwise so exactly like a plain, brown, fat, every-day-in-the-year piece of breakfast toast that it was hard to be enthusiastic about him—­at least in the presence of all the exotic-looking dainties the other guests were to have!  However, Sara made a great effort, and settled herself to listen to the Toasts politely.  The name of this Toast was “Sara’s Day—­Because She is Older than the Snoodle,” and the Plynck responded to it.  The way she responded was this:  the Toast balanced himself with difficulty on his lower corner, and said, in a throaty voice, “How do you do, Madame Plynck?” and the Plynck bowed (much more gracefully) and responded, “How do you do, Toast?” And then she made a speech on the Toast’s subject.  While she was making the speech (which was lovely—­she fairly soared) the Toast tottered over to Sara’s plate and lay down in it, without any further sign of life or animation.  Avrillia leaned over and Whispered, “Eat it, Sara,” and then Sara did.  And she didn’t have any trouble keeping from being disappointed, after that.  For, just as Avrillia had hinted, the toast, in spite of its appearance, was really Angel Food cake; and as she ate it, Sara found at her elbow a bottle marked “Birdsong Wine—­Bluebird.”  As the Gunki were all eating, they couldn’t wait on her, so she poured it into her glass herself; and when she had taken a sip, it tasted just like April!  You may imagine that, from that time on, Sara had no further anxiety about what she was to eat, and that her mind was now entirely free to enjoy the Toasts.  The second Toast was announced, indeed, before she had recovered from her first surprise and delight.  The subject of this Toast was, “Sara’s Dimples—­May I Never Get Them”; and of course it was responded to by the Snimmy.  There was no variety either in the looks or in the performance of the Toasts; I must admit that they were very heavy, awkward, and short of breath, and were as much alike as the trained sea-lions at a circus.  However, you felt that, like the sea-lions, they were doing very well to perform at all. (Avrillia whispered to Sara that Pirlaps, as toastmaster, had spent days and days preparing them; so Sara suspected that Pirlaps, at least, had known all along that she was older than the Snoodle.) The speeches, on the other hand, were marvels of variety and interest.  The Snimmy’s, of course, was sad—­even heartrending; and he was sniffing before he had finished saying, “How do you do, Toast?” and shedding gum-drops like hail-stones before he was half through.  His Toast, however, was orange-cake, unusually delicious; and the wine served with it was a sparkling cherry-colored