Snoodle

(Only, don't fall into the error of thinking that the Snoodle was a dog; you remember his mother was a snail.)

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919

"Now, Snoodle, come here!" cried Sara, nerving herself for the supreme test of her theory.

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919

The Snimmy's wife sat on her own toadstool, rigid and angry-looking, with her tail wound tightly around the base, and with the half-hemmed doorknob forgotten in her lap; the Snimmy lay watchfully at the door of the prose-bush, with his long, debilitating nose on his paws, shivering terribly; and the Snoodle looked as if somebody had put salt on his mother.

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919

The Snoodle was too young to make a speech, but they had taught him to respond to a simple little Toast, "On Being Older than Snoodles," and it was very charming to hear him lisp, "How do you do, Toast?" like the others.

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919

However, she was quite honest; she really did think the Snoodle was lovely -- except for his drawback.

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919

As she passed through the hedge she cast a backward look at the Garden, which was now so still that she thought it looked like a picture in a dream -- shimmering and bright and clear, without a soul left at home but the Plynck's cerulean Echo and the sleeping Snoodle.

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919

But, on reflection, she realized that they did not blame her in the least, so there was no need to make excuses; and they all seemed so delighted to find that she was older than the Snoodle!

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919

She glanced around to see if she could find the curly little path; but she could not really start until she had asked a few questions about the darling little Snoodle.

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919

The Snoodle sprang forward at the word, and, as Sara had foretold, threw his paws about the Horn-Devil's neck.

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919

The Horn-Devil sprang into the air, making a sort of wild, whinnying sound (the only sound Sara ever heard, then or afterward, from a caterpillar); but as Sara patted him kindly and the Snoodle only wagged himself ecstatically, he grew quiet again, and allowed himself to be hugged without further protest.

The Garden of the Plynck Karle Wilson Baker 1919