Now this was, indeed, the saddest little stream Sara had ever seen.  Its source was hidden in mist, and after it passed through the rainbow arch it disappeared somewhere, as if the earth had swallowed it.  But all along its banks, where Sara could see it, sat great frogs, with their green pocket handkerchiefs to their eyes; and every now and then the most dismal sounds escaped them.  Sara did not need to be told that they were Sobs—­anybody would have known it.

Looking closely, Sara could see in the water hundreds of little black fish, decorated with silver dots and streaks.  As the Gunki approached the stream with Sara’s tears, all the Sobs began to sob at once, and at the sound the little black fish all stuck their wide, greedy mouths up out of the water.  The Gunki fed the tears to the two nearest, and then they all sank again, with a great splashing and flouncing.

“You see, Miss,” explained the First Gunkus (who seemed to have taken a great liking to Sara, in spite of all the trouble she had caused him), “we have to feed ’em all the mad tears.  The sad ones turn into these.”

Sara looked where he pointed, and there, at her feet, she saw numbers of little blue-eyed flowers.  They were extremely pretty, and by far the pleasantest things she had seen in this Vale; but even they had a sad little fragrance, and each eye had a dewdrop on it.  Sara found that, if she looked at them long, she felt a lump coming in her throat; and at last she turned to her friends and said what she had been trying to get up courage to say from the first, “Please—­I don’t like this place!  I want to go!”

“There, there, dear,” said the Teacup, soothingly, looking as if she had been dreading the worst, and it had come.

“We has orders, Miss,” said the First Gunkus, stepping up, “that we must keep you here three-quarters of an hour, and show you the whole Vale, Miss.”

“Whose orders?” faltered Sara.

For a moment the Gunki looked quite wild and disorganized.  Then the First Gunkus collected himself and said quite firmly,

“Just orders, Miss—­without any whose.”

“But I can tell you why, dear,” interrupted the Teacup soothingly, as if she hoped to distract Sara’s mind.  “I’ve heard my Saucer say why.  It’s so children can understand what kind of a place mothers have to stay in, when they cry.  So cheer up, dear, and try to enjoy the scenery.  The trip through the Vale won’t last long.”

Sara felt a good deal like crying again—­but it was like carrying coals to Newcastle to cry in a place like this!  Besides, she was thinking of what the Teacup had said about mothers.  Was it possible that she brought anything like this on her own dear, self-willed Mother every time she indulged in a few natural tears?

And the more she thought of it, the more strongly she decided that she just wouldn’t cry.  And just at that moment one of those lovely pencils of sunlight, that looked brighter in this misty green place than anywhere she had ever been, fell across her path.