{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_32620/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_32620","id":"gutenberg_32620","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32620","summary":null,"tags":["Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction","Brothers -- Juvenile fiction","Category: Adventure","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Fairy tales","Monkeys -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n    +------------------------------------------------------------+\n    | Transcriber's Note:                                        |\n    |                                                            |\n    | Letters with macrons have been represented with [=o], [=u] |\n    | and [=a].                                                  |\n    +------------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE MULLA-MULGARS\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"OH, BUT IF I MIGHT BUT HOLD IT IN MY HAND ONE MOMENT, I\nTHINK THAT I SHOULD NEVER EVEN SIGH AGAIN!\"]\n\n\n\n\n    THE THREE\n    MULLA-MULGARS\n\n    BY\n    WALTER DE LA MARE\n\n    ILLUSTRATED BY\n    DOROTHY P LATHROP\n\n    [Illustration]\n\n    _New York_    ALFRED\u00b7A\u00b7KNOPF    _Mcmxxv_\n\n\n\n\n    COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY\n    ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.\n\n    _Published, December, 1919\n    Second Printing, February, 1925_\n\n\n    PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\n\n    TO\n    F. AND D.\n    AND\n    L. AND C.\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n    \"Oh, but if I might but hold it in my hand one\n      moment, I think I should never even sigh again!\"    _Frontispiece_\n\n    \"The Queen of the Mountains is in the Forest--with fingers\n      of frost\"                                                       42\n\n    The Wonderstone                                                   75\n\n    Nod was never left alone                                          80\n\n    He jumped, he reared, he kicked, he plunged, he wriggled,\n      he whinnied                                                     90\n\n    Nod danced the Jaqquas' war-dance, ... stooping and\n      crooked, \"wriggle and stamp\"                                   129\n\n    He felt a sudden darkness above his head, and a cold terror\n      crept over his skin                                            132\n\n    With sticks and staves and flaring torches they turned on the\n      fierce birds that came sweeping and swirling out of the dark   189\n\n    \"What is it, brother? Why do you crouch and stare?\"              218\n\n    \"For there stood as if frozen in the moonlight the monstrous\n      silver-haired Meermuts of Mulgarmeerez, guarding the\n      enchanted orchards of Tishnar\"                                 224\n\n    They feasted on fruits they never before had tasted nor\n      knew to grow on earth                                          232\n\n    A Mulgar of a presence and a strangeness, who was without\n      doubt of the Kingdom of Assasimmon                             274\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE MULLA-MULGARS\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nOn the borders of the Forest of Munza-mulgar lived once an old grey\nfruit-monkey of the name of Mutt-matutta. She had three sons, the eldest\nThumma, the next Thimbulla, and the youngest, who was a Nizza-neela,\nUmmanodda. And they called each other for short, Thumb, Thimble, and\nNod. The rickety, tumble-down old wooden hut in which they lived had\nbeen built 319 Munza years before by a traveller, a Portugall or\nPortingal, lost in the forest 22,997 leagues from home. After he was\ndead, there came scrambling along on his fours one peaceful evening a\nMulgar (or, as we say in English, a monkey) named Zebbah. At first sight\nof the hut he held his head on one side awhile, and stood quite still,\nlistening, his broad-nosed face lit up in the blaze of the setting sun.\nHe then hobbled a little nearer, and peeped into the hut. Whereupon he\nhobbled away a little, but soon came back and peeped again. At last he\nventured near, and, pushing back the tangle of creepers and matted\ngrasses, groped through the door and went in. And there, in a dark\ncorner, lay the Portingal's little heap of bones.\n\nThe hut was dry as tinder. It had in it a broken fire-stone, a kind of\nchest or cupboard, a table, and a stool, both rough and insect-bitten,\nbut still strong. Zebbah sniffed and grunted, and pushed and peered\nabout. And he found all manner of strange and precious stuff half buried\nin the hut--pots for Subbub; pestles and basins for Manaka-cake, etc.;\nthree bags of great beads, clear, blue, and emerald; an old rusty\nmusket; nine ephelantoes' tusks; a bag of Margarita stones; and many\nother things, besides cloth and spider-silk and dried-up fruits and\nfishes. He made his dwelling there, and died there. This Mulgar, Zebbah,\nwas Mutta-matutta's great-great-great-grandfather. Dead and gone were\nall.\n\nNow, one day when Mutta-matutta was young, and her father had gone into\nthe forest for Sudd-fruit, there came limping along a most singular\nMulgar towards the house. He was bent and shrunken, shivering and\ncoughing, but he walked as men walk, his nut-shaped head bending up out\nof a big red jacket. His shoulder and the top of his head were worn bare\nby the rubbing of the bundle he carried. And behind him came stumbling\nalong another Mulgar, his servant, with a few rags tied round his body,\nwho could not at first speak, his tongue was so much swollen from his\nhaving bitten in the dark a poison-spider in his nuts. The name of his\nmaster was Seelem; his own name was Glint. This Seelem fell very sick.\nMutta-matutta nursed him night and day, with the sourest monkey-physic.\nHe was pulled crooked with pain and the shivers, or rain-fever. The tips\nof the hairs on his head had in his wanderings turned snow-white. But he\nbore his pain and his sickness (and his physic) without one groan of\ncomplaint.\n\nAnd Glint, who fetched water and gathered sticks and nuts, and\nhelped Mutta-matutta, told her that his master, Seelem, was a\nMulla-mulgar--that is, a Mulgar of the Blood Royal--and own brother\nto Assasimmon, Prince of the Valleys of Tishnar.\n\nHe told her, also, that his master had wearied of Assasimmon's\nvalley-palace, his fine food and dishes, his music of shells and\nstrings, his countless Mulgar-slaves, beasts, and groves and gardens;\nand that, having chosen three servants, Jacca, Glutt, and himself, he\nhad left his brother's valleys, to discover what lay beyond the\nArakkaboa Mountains. But Jacca had perished of frost-bite on the\nsouthern slopes of the Peak of Tishnar, and Glutt had been eaten by the\nMinimuls.\n\nHe was very silent and gloomy, this Mulla-mulgar, Seelem, but glad to\nrest his bruised and weary bones in the hut. And when Mutta-matutta's\nfather died from sleeping in the moon-mist at Sudd-ripening, Seelem\nuntied his travelling bundle and made his home in the hut. Mutta-matutta\nwas a lonely and rather sad Mulgar, so at this she rejoiced, for she had\ngrown from fearing to love the royal old wanderer. And she helped him to\nput away all that was in his bundles into the Portingal's chest--three\nshirts of cotton; two red jackets, like his own, with metal hooks; a\nsheep's-coat, with ivory buttons and pocket-flaps; three skin shoes (for\none had been lost out of his bundle in the forest); a cap of Mamasul\nskin (very precious); besides knives, fire-strikers, a hollow cup of\nivory, magic physic-powder, two combs of Impaleena-horn, a green\nserpent-skin for sweetening water, etc., and, beyond and above all, the\nmilk-white Wonderstone of Tishnar.\n\nHere they lived, Seelem and Mutta (as he called her), in the Portingal's\nold hut, for thirteen years. And Mutta was happy with Seelem and her\nthree sons, Thumb, Thimble, and Nod. They had a water-spring,\nhoney-boxes or baskets for the bees in the Ollaconda-trees, a shed or\nhuddle of green branches, for Glint, and a big patch of Ummuz-cane. Nod\nslept in a kind of hole or burrow in the roof, with a tiny peeping-hole,\nfrom which he used to scare the birds from his father's Ummuz.\n\nMutta wished only that Seelem was not quite so grim and broody; that the\nMunza-mulgars (forest-monkeys) would not come stealing her Subbub and\nhoney; and that the Portingal's hut stood quite out of the silvery\nmoon-mist that rose from the swamp; for she suffered (as do most\nfruit-monkeys) from the bones-ache. Seelem was gentle and easy in his\nown moody way with Mutta and his three sons, but, most of all, he\ncheered his heart with tiny Nod, the Nizza-neela. Sometimes all day long\nthis old travel-worn Mulla-mulgar never uttered a sound, save at\nevening, when he sang or droned his evening hymn to Tishnar.[1] He kept\na thick stick, which he called his Guzza, to punish his three sons when\nthey were idle and sullen, or gluttonous, or with Munza tricks pestered\ntheir mother. And he never favoured Nod beyond the others more than all\ngood fathers favour the youngest, the littlest, and the gaysomest of\ntheir children.\n\n    [1] Tishnar is a very ancient word in Munza, and means that\n        which cannot be thought about in words, or told, or\n        expressed. So all the wonderful, secret, and quiet world\n        beyond the Mulgars' lives is Tishnar--wind and stars, too,\n        the sea and the endless unknown. But here it is only the\n        Beautiful One of the Mountains that is meant. So beautiful\n        is she that a Mulgar who dreams even of one of her Maidens,\n        and wakes still in the presence of his dream, can no longer\n        be happy in the company of his kind. He hides himself away\n        in some old hole or rocky fastness, lightless, matted, and\n        uncombed, and so thins and pines, or becomes a Wanderer or\n        M\u00f4h-mulgar. But it is rare for this to be, for very few\n        Mulgars dream beyond the mere forest, as it were; and fewer\n        still keep the memories of their dreams when the livelong\n        vision of Munza returns to their waking eyes. The Valleys\n        of Tishnar lie on either flank of the Mountains of\n        Arakkaboa, though she herself wanders only in the stillness\n        of the mountain snows. She is shown veiled on the rude pots\n        of Assasimmon and in Mulgar scratch-work, with one\n        slim-fingered hand clasping her robe of palest purple, her\n        head bent a little, as if hearkening to her thoughts; and\n        she is shod with sandals of silver. Of these things the\n        wandering Oomgar-nuggas, or black men, tell. From Tishnar,\n        too, comes the Last Sleep--the sleep of all the World. The\n        last sleep just of their own life only is\n        N[=o][=o]manossi--darkness, change, and the unreturning. And\n        Imman\u00e2la is she who preys across these shadows, in this\n        valley. So, too, the Mulgars say, \"N[=o][=o]ma, N[=o][=o]ma,\"\n        when they mean shadow, as \"In the sun paces a leopard's\n        N[=o][=o]ma at her side.\" Meermut, which means in part also\n        shadow, is the shadow, as it were, of lesser light lost in\n        Tishnar's radiance, just as moonlight may cast a shadow of\n        a pine-tree across a smouldering fire. There is, too, a\n        faint wind that breathes in the first twilight and\n        starshine of Munza called the Wind of Tishnar. It was, I\n        think, the faint murmur of this wind that echoed in the ear\n        of Mutta-matutta as she lay dying, for in dying one hears,\n        it is said, what in life would carry no more tidings to the\n        mind than light brings to the hand. Nod's bells that he\n        heard, and thought were his father's, must have been the\n        Zevveras' bells of Tishnar's Water-middens, all wandering\n        Meermuts. These Water-middens, or Water-maidens, are like\n        the beauty of the moonlight. The countless voices of\n        fountain, torrent, and cataract are theirs. They, with\n        other of Tishnar's Maidens, come riding on their belled\n        Zevveras, and a strange silence falls where their little\n        invisible horses are tethered; while, perhaps, the Maidens\n        sit feasting in a dell, grey with moonbeams and ghostly\n        flowers. Even the sullen Mullabruk learns somehow of their\n        presence, and turns aside on his fours from the silvery\n        mist of their glades and green alleys, just as in the same\n        wise a cold air seems to curdle his skin when some haunting\n        N[=o][=o]ma passes by. All the inward shadows of the\n        creatures of Munza-mulgar are N[=o][=o]manossi's; all their\n        phantoms, spirits, or Meermuts are Tishnar's. And so there\n        is a never-ending changeableness and strife in their short\n        lives. The leopard (or Roses, as they call her, for the\n        beauty of her clear black spots) is Meermut to her cubs,\n        N[=o][=o]ma to the dodging Skeetoes she lies in wait for,\n        stretched along a bough. Her beauty is Tishnar's; the\n        savagery of her claws is N[=o][=o]manossi's. So Munza's\n        children are dark or bright, lovely or estranging,\n        according as Meermut or N[=o][=o]ma prevails in their\n        natures. And thus, too, they choose the habitation of their\n        bodies. Yet because dark is but day gone, and cruelty\n        unkindness, therefore even the heart-shattering\n        N[=o][=o]manossi, even Imman\u00e2la herself, is only absent\n        Tishnar. But there, as everyone can see, I am only\n        chattering about what I cannot understand.\n\nOne of the first things that Nod remembered was Glint's tumbling from\nthe great Ukka-tree, which he had climbed at ripening-time, bough up to\nbough from the bottom, cracking shells and eating all the way, until,\nforgetting how heavy he had become, he swung his fat body on to a\nslender and withered branch, and fell all a-topple from top to bottom on\nto the back of his thick skull. Beneath this same dark-leaved tree\nSeelem buried his servant, together with a pot of subbub, seven loaves\nor cakes, and a long stick of Ummuz-cane. But Mutta-matutta after his\ndeath would never touch an Ukka-nut again.\n\nSeelem taught his sons how to make fire, what nuts and roots and fruits\nand grasses were wholesome for eating; what herbs and bark and pith for\nphysic; what reeds and barks for cloth. He taught them how to take honey\nwithout being stung; how to count; how to find their way by the chief\nand brightest among the stars; to cut cudgels, to build leaf-huts and\nhuddles against heat or rain. He taught them, too, the common tongue of\nthe Forest-monkeys--that is the language of nearly all the Mulgars that\nlive in the forests of Munza--Jacquet-mulgars, Mullabruks, purple-faced\nand saffron-headed Mulgars, Skeetoes, tuft-waving Manquabees,\nFly-catchers and Squirrel-tails, and many more than I can mention.\nSeelem taught them also a little of the languages of the dreaded\nGunga-mulgars, of the Collobs, and the Babbab[=o][=o]mas. But the\nMinimul-mulgars' and the Oomgars' or man-monkeys' languages (white,\nblack, or yellow) he could not teach, because he did not know them.\nWhen, however, they were alone together they spoke the secret language\nof the Mulla-mulgars dwelling north of the Arakkaboas--that is,\nMulgar-royal. This language in some ways resembles that of the\nPortugalls, in some that of the Oggewibbies, and, here and there--but in\nvery little--Garniereze. Seelem, of course, taught his sons, and\nespecially Thumb, many other things besides--more, certainly, than would\ncontain itself in a little book like this. But, above all, he taught\nthem to walk upright, never to taste blood, and never, unless in danger\nor despair, to climb trees or to grow a tail.\n\nBut now, after all these thirteen years of absence from Assasimmon's\npalace in the beautiful Valleys of Tishnar, Seelem began to desire more\nand more to see again his home and his brother, with whom as a child he\nhad walked in scarlet and Mamasul, and drunk his syrup from an ivory\ncup. He grew more gloomy and morose than ever, squatted alone, his eyes\nfixed mournfully in the air. And Mutta would whisper to Nod: \"Sst, zun\nnizza-neela, tus-weeta zan nuome.\"\n\nThe more cunning of the Forest-mulgars at first had come in troops to\nSeelem, laden with gifts of nuts and fruits, because they were afraid of\nhim. But he would sit in his red jacket and merely stare at them as if\nthey were no better than flies. And at last they began in revenge to do\nhim as much mischief as their wits could contrive, until he grew\nutterly weary of their scuffling and quarrelling, their thumbs and\ncolours, fleas and tails. At last he could hear himself no longer, and\none morning, in the first haze of sunrise over the sleeping forest, he\ncalled Mutta and his three sons to where he sat in the shadow of Glint's\ngreat budding Ukka-tree. And he told them he was going on a long\njourney--\"beyond and beyond, forest and river, forest swamp and river,\nthe mountains of Arakkaboa, leagues, leagues away\"--to seek again the\nValleys of Tishnar. \"And I will come back,\" he said, leaning his hand\nupon the ground and blinking at Nod, \"with slaves and scarlet and\nfood-baskets and Zevveras, and bring you all there with me. But first I\nmust go alone and find the way through dangers thick as flies, O\nMulla-mulgars. Wait here and guard your old mother, Mutta-matutta, my\nsons, her Ummuz and ukkas. And grow strong, O tailless ones, till I\nreturn. Zu zoub\u00e9 seese muglareen, een suang no nouano zupbf!\" And that\nwas all he said.\n\nBut Mutta-matutta, though she could not hide her grief at his going,\nhelped him in every way she could to be quickly gone. He seemed beside\nhimself, this white, old, crooked Mulla-mulgar. His eyes blazed; he went\nmuttering; he'd throw up his hands and snuff and snuff, as if the very\nwind bore Tishnar on its wings. And even at night he'd rise up in the\ndarkness and open the door and listen as if out of the immeasurable and\nsolitudinous forests he heard voices calling him from far away. At\nlength, in his last shirt (which had been carefully kept these thirteen\nyears, with a dead kingfisher and a bag of civet, to keep off the\ncockroaches); in his finest red jacket and his cap of Mamasul-skin;\nwith a great bundle of Manaka-cake and Ummuz-cane, knife and\nfire-striker and physic, and the old Portingal's rusty musket on his\nshoulder, he was ready to be off. In the early morning he came stooping\nunder the little hut-door. He looked at his hut and his water-spring, at\nhis bees and canes; he looked at his three sons, and at old\nMutta-matutta, with a great frown, and trembled. And Mutta could not\nbear to say good-bye; she lifted her crooked hands above her old head,\nthe tears running down her cheeks, and she went and hid herself in the\nhut till he was gone. But his three sons went a little way with him.\n\nThumb and Thimble hopped along with his heavy bundle on a stick between\nthem to the branching of the Mulgar-track, which here runs nearly two\npaces wide into the gloom of Munza-mulgar; while Nod sat on Seelem's\nshoulder, sucking a stick of Ummuz-cane, and clutching the long, cold,\nrusty barrel of his musket. The trees of the forest lifted their\nbranches in a trembling haze of heat, hung with grey thorny ropes, and\nvines and trailing creepers of Cullum and Samarak, vivid with leaves,\nand with large cuplike waxen flowers, moon-white, amber, mauve, and\nscarlet. Butterflies like blots and splashes of flame, wee Tominiscoes,\nruby and emerald and amethyst, shimmered and spangled and sipped and\nhovered. And a thin, twangling, immeasurable murmur like the strings of\nN[=o][=o]manossi's harp rose from the tiny millions that made their\nnests and mounds and burrows in the forest.\n\nSeelem took his sons one by one by the shoulders, and looked into their\neyes, and touched noses. And they lifted their hands in salutation, and\nwatched him till he was gone from sight. But though his grey face was\nall wizened up with trouble and wet with tears, he never so much as once\nlooked behind him, lest his sons should cry after him, or he turn back.\nSo, presently, after they all three lifted their hands once more, as if\nhis Meermut[2] might still haunt near; and then they went home to their\nmother.\n\n    [2] \"Meermut\" is shadow, phantom, spectre, or even the pictured\n        remembrance of anything in the mind.\n\nBut the rains came; he did not return. The long days strode softly by,\nthe chatter and screams of Munza at dawn, the long-drawn, moaning shout\nof Mullabruk to Mullabruk as darkness deepened. Nod would sometimes\nventure a little way into the forest, hoping to hear the gongs that his\nfather had told him the close-shorn slaves of Assasimmon tie with\nleopard-thongs about their Zevveras' necks. He would sit in the gigantic\nshadows of evening, watching the fireflies, and saying to himself: \"Sst,\nNod, see what they say--to-morrow!\" But the morrow never came that\nbrought him back his father.\n\nMutta-matutta cared and cooked for them. She made a great store of\nManaka-cake, packed for coolness all neatly in plantain-leaves;\nNano-cheese, and two or three big pots of Subbub. She kept them clean\nand combed; plastered and physicked them; taught them to cook, and many\nthings else, until, as one by one they grew up, they knew all that she\n_could_ teach them, except the wisdom to use what they had learnt. She\nwould often, too, in the first hush of night, tell them stories of their\nfather, and of her own father, back even to Zebbah, and the Portingal\ndangling with his bunch of wild-cats' tails in the corner.\n\nBut as the years wasted away, she grew thin and mournful, and fell ill\nof pining and grief and age, and even had at last to keep to her bed of\nmoss and cotton in the hut.\n\nHer sons worked hard for her, pushing into the forest and across the\nnarrow swamp in search of fruits to tempt her appetite. Nod heaped up\nfresh leaves for her bed, and sang in his shrill, quavering voice every\nevening Tishnar's hymn to his poor old mother. He baked her sweet\npotatoes and Nanoes wrapped in leaves, and would dance round, \"wriggle\nand stamp--wriggle and stamp,\" as Seelem had told him dance the\nOomgar-nuggas, to try to make her cheerful. But by-and-by she began to\nlanguish, her teeth chattering, her eyes burning, unable to eat.... And\none still afternoon, when only Nod was near (his brothers, tired of the\nheat and buzzing in the green hut, having gone to gather nuts and sticks\nin the forest), as Mutta-matutta sat dozing and muttering in her corner,\ncame the voice of Tishnar, calling in the hush of evening: and she knew\nshe must die.\n\nNod crept close to her, thinking at first the strange voice singing\nwas the sound of Seelem's Zevveras' distant gongs, and he held the\nhard thin hand between his. When Thumb and Thimble returned with their\nbags and faggots of smoulder-wood, she called them all three, and told\nthem she too must go away now, perhaps even, if only in Meermut, to\nfind their father. And she besought them to be always true and faithful\none to another, and to be brave. \"Five fingers serve one hand, my good\nmen,\" she said. \"And oh, remember this always: that you are all three\nMulla-mulgars, sons of Seelem, whose home is far from here--Mulla-mulgars\nwho never do walk flambo--that is, on all fours--never taste blood, and\nnever, unless in danger and despair, climb trees or grow a tail.\"\n\nIt was hot and gloomy in the tangled little hut, lit only by the violet\nof the dying afterglow. And when she had rested a little while to\nrecover her breath, she told them that Seelem, the night before he left\nthem, had said that, should he perish on his journey and not return, in\nseven Munza years they were, as best they could, bravely to follow after\nhim. In time they would perhaps reach the Valleys of Tishnar, and their\nuncle, Prince Assasimmon, would welcome them.\n\n\"His country lies beyond and beyond,\" she said, \"forest and river,\nforest, swamp and river, the Mountains of Arakkaboa--leagues, leagues\naway.\"\n\nAnd, as she paused, a feeble wind sighed through the open window,\nstirring the dangling bones of the Portingal, so that, with their faint\nclicking, they too, seemed to echo, \"leagues, leagues away.\"\n\n\"It will be a long and dreary journey, my sons. But the Prince\nAssasimmon, Mulla-mulla of the Mulgars, is great and powerful, and has\nfor hut a palace of ivory and Azmamogreel, with scarlet and Mamasul,\nslaves and peacocks, and beasts uncountable; and leagues of Ukka and\nBarbary-nuts; and boundless fields of Ummuz, and orchards of fruit, and\nbowers of flowers and pleasure. And his, too, is the Rose of all the\nMulgars.\" And as he listened Thimble shuffled from foot to foot, his\nheart uneasy, to hear her cry so hollowly the beauty of that Rose. And\nat her bidding, out of the cupboard they took the civeted bundles of all\nthe stuff and little Mulgar treasures she had been hoarding up all\nthese years for them against this last day.\n\nShe gave Thumb and Thimble each a red Oomgar's jacket with curved metal\nhooks, and to Nod the little coat of mountain-sheep's wool, with its\nnine ivory buttons. She divided and shared everything between\nthem--their father's knives and cudgels, the beads blue and emerald, the\nMargarita stones. The Portingal's rusty hatchet, burned with a cross on\nits stock, she gave to Thumb; a little fat black greasy book of sorcery,\nmade of Exxswixxia leaves, to Thimble; and to Nod, last of all, picking\nit out of the stitched serpent-skin lining of her great wool cap, she\ngave the Wonderstone.\n\n\"I give this to Nod,\" she said to his brothers, \"because he is a\nNizza-neela, and has magic in him. Come close, my sons, Thumb and\nThimble, and see. His winking [or left][3] eye has green within the\nhazel; his thumbs grow lean and long; he still keeps two milk-teeth; and\nbears the Nizza-neela tuft betwixt his ears.\" With her hot skinny\nfingers she stroked softly back his hair, and showed his brothers the\nlittle velvety patch, or tuft, or badge, or crest, on the top of his\nhead, above the parting. \"O Mulla-mulgars, how I begged your father to\ntake this Wonderstone with him on his journey! but he would not. He\nsaid, 'Keep it, and let my sons, if need be, carry it after me to the\nkingdom of my brother. He will know by this one thing that they are\nindeed my sons, Mulla-mulgars, Princes of Tishnar, sibbetha eena manga\nM\u00f4h!'\"\n\n    [3] On the right or cudgel side, the Mulgars say, sits Bravery;\n        on the winking, woman, or left side, Craft.\n\n\"Never, little Nod,\" said his old dying mother--\"never lose, nor give\naway, nor sport with, nor even lend this Wonderstone; and if in your\nlong journey you are in danger of the Third Sleep,[4] or lost, or in\ngreat fear, spit with your spittle on the stone, and rub softly three\ntimes with your left thumb, Samaweeza: Tishnar will hear you; help will\ncome.\"\n\n    [4] First Sleep is night-sleep; Second Sleep is swoon-sleep;\n        Third Sleep is death, or N[=o][=o]manossi. So, too, the\n        Mulgars say, the first is \"Little-go,\" the second is\n        \"Great-go,\" and the third is \"Come-no-more\"; as if their\n        bodies were a lodging, and sleep a kind of out-of-doors.\n\nThen, with her small, clumsy fingers, she tied up the sleeping\nmilk-white Wonderstone in the hem of his woolly sheep's coat, and lay\nback in her bed, too feeble to speak again. Thumb, Thimble, and Nod sat\nall three, each with his little heap of house-stuff before him, which it\nseemed hateful now to have, staring through the doorway. In the purple\ngloom the fireflies were mazily flickering. Night was still, like a\nsimmering pot, with heat. And out of the swamp they heard the Oobo\u00eb\ncalling to its mate, singing marvellous sweet and clear in the darkness\nabove its woven nest; while over their heads the tiny Nikka-nakkas, or\nmouse-owls, sat purring in the thatch. And Nod said: \"Listen, Mutta,\nlisten; how the Oobo\u00eb's telling secrets!\" And she smiled with tight-shut\nlids, wagging her wizened head.\n\nAnd in the deepest dead of night, when Thimble sat sleeping, his long\narms thrown out over the Portingal's rough table, and Thumb crouching at\nthe door, Nod heard in the silence a very faint sigh. He crept to his\nmother's bed. She softly raised her hand to him, and her eyes closed.\n\nSo her three sons dug her a deep grave beside Glint's, under the\nUkka-tree, as she had bidden them. And many of the Forest-mulgars,\nspecially those of her own kind and kindred, came down solemnly out of\nthe forest towards evening of that day, and keened or droned for\nMutta-matutta, squatting together at some little distance from the\nPortingal's hut. Beyond their counting (though that is not a hard\nmatter) was the number of the years she and her father and her father's\nfather, back even to Zebbah, had lived in the hut. But they did not come\nnear, because they feared the Portingal's yellow bones hung up in the\ncorner.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nAt first the three brothers lived so forlorn and solitary together they\ncould scarcely eat. Everything they saw or handled told them only over\nand over again that their mother was dead. But there was work to be\ndone, and brave hearts must take courage, else sorrow and trouble would\nbe nothing but evil. This, too, was no time for sitting idle and\ndoleful. For a little before the gathering of the rains there began to\nseem a strangeness in the air. After the great heat had flown up a\ntempest of wind and lightning of such a brightness that Nod, peering out\nof his little tangled window-hole, could see beneath the gleaming rods\nof rain and the huge, bowed, groaning trees no less than three leopards\ncrouching for shelter beneath the Portingal's sturdy little hut. He\ncould hear them, too, in the pauses of the tempest, mewling, spitting,\nand swearing, and the lash of their angry tails against the wall of the\nhut. After the tempest, it fell cold and very still, with sometimes a\nmoaning in the air. Strange weather was in the sky at rise and set of\nsun. And the three brothers, looking out, and seeing the numberless\nflights of birds winging with cries all in one direction, and hearing\nthis moaning, hardly knew what to be doing. They went out every day to\ngather great bundles of wood and as many nuts and fruits and roots as\nthey could carry. And they found everywhere wise creatures doing the\nsame--I mean, of course, collecting food--for none beside the Minimuls,\nthe Gungas, and the Mulla-mulgars have fire-sticks, and most of them\nfear even the sight and smell of flames.\n\nAnd Nod, having his mother's quick hand, made a great store of\nManaka-cake and Sudd-bread. He dried some fruits, pulped others. And\nsome he poured with honey or Ummuz-juice into the Portingal's little\nearthen pots, many of which were still unbroken, while he who had first\nused them was but a bony shadow-trap in the corner. And Nod and Thumb\nmade two great gourds of Subbub, very sweet and potent, so that, because\nof the sweet smell of it, the four-clawed Weddervols came barking about\ntheir hut all night. But the Manga-cheese their mother had made melted\nin the heat of the great fires they burned, and most of it ran down out\nof the cupboard. They filled the wood-hole with firewood, and stacked it\noutside, above Nod's shoulder, all against the hut.\n\nAnd it was about the nineteenth week after Mutta's death that Thumb, as\nhe came stooping to the door one night, saw fires of Tishnar on the\nground. Over the swamp stood a shaving of moon, clear as a bow of\nsilver. And all about, on every twig, on every thorn, and leaf, and\npebble; all along the nine-foot grasses, on every cushion and touch of\nbark, even on the walls of their hut, lay this spangling fiery meal of\nTishnar--frost. He called his brothers. Their breath stood round them\nlike smoke. They stared and snuffed, they coughed in the cold air.\nNever, since birds wore feathers--never had hoar-frost glittered on\nMunza-mulgar before.\n\nThese Mullas danced; they crouched down in the dreadful cold, thinking\nto warm their hands at these uncountable fires. And, lo and behold! in a\nlittle while, looking at one another, each was a Mulgar, white and\nsparkling too. Their very hairs, down-arm and up-arm, every tuft stood\nstiff and white with frost. Like millers they stood, all blazing in the\nnight.\n\nAnd that was the beginning of Witzaweelw[=u]lla (the White Winter). For\nit was only three days after Tishnar's fires were kindled that Nod first\nsaw snow. Now one, two, three, a scatter of flakes, just a few.\n\"Feathers,\" thought Nod.\n\nBut faster, faster; twirling, rustling, hovering. \"Butterflies,\" thought\nNod.\n\nAnd then it seemed the sky, the air, was all aflock. He ran out snuffing\nand frightened. He clapped his hands; he leapt and frisked and shouted.\nAnd there, coming up out of the swamp, were his brothers, laden with\nrushes, and as woolly with snow as sheep. Because it looked so white and\ncrisp and beautiful Nod even brought out a pot and filled it with snow\nto cook for their supper. But there, when he lifted the lid, was only a\nlittle steaming water.\n\nBy-and-by they began to wonder and to fear no more. How glad they were\nof all the wood they had brought in, and of their great cupboardful of\nvictuals! They made themselves long poles, and would go leaping about to\nkeep themselves warm. They built such roaring fires on the hearth they\nsquatted round that the sparks flew up like fireflies under the black,\nstarry sky. Snug in their hut, the brothers would sit of an evening on\ntheir three stools, with their smoking bowls between their legs. And\nthey would open their great mouths and drone and sing the songs their\nfather had taught them, beating to the notes with their flat feet on the\nearth floor. But, nevertheless, they pined for the cold and the snow to\nbe over and gone, so that they might start on their journey! Every\nmorning broke bleak and sparkling. Often of a night new snow came, till\nthey walked between low white walls on their little path to the forest.\nBut in spite of the cold which made them ache and shiver, and their toes\nand fingers burn and itch, they went out searching for frozen nuts and\nfruits every morning, and still fetched in faggots.\n\nOften while they squatted, toasting themselves round their fire, Nod\nwould look up, blinking his eyes, to see the faces of the Forest-mulgars\npeeping in at the window, envying the Mullas their warmth, though afraid\nof their fire, and calling softly one to another: \"Ho, ho! look at the\nMulla-sluggas [lazy princes] sitting round their fire!\" And Thumb and\nThimble would grin and softly scratch their hairy knees. Thumb, indeed,\nmade up a Mulgar drone, which he used to buzz to himself when the\nMunza-mulgars came miching and mocking and peeping. (But it was a bad\nand dull drone, and I will not make it worse by turning it into my poor\nEnglish from Mulgar-royal.)\n\nNod often sat watching the Forest-mulgars frisking in the forest, though\nevery morning the light shone through on many perched frozen in the\nboughs. The Mullabruks and Manquabees made huddles in the snow. But the\ntiny Squirrel-tails, with their dark, grave, beautiful eyes and silken\namber coats, still roosted high where the frost-wind stirred in the\ndark. Sometimes on a crusted branch of snow Nod would see\nfive--seven--nine of these tiny, frost-powdered Mulgars cuddling\ntogether in a row, poor little frozen and empty boxes, their gay lives\nfled away. And when his brothers were gathering sticks in the forest, he\nwould smuggle out for them two or three handfuls of nuts and pieces of\ncake and Sudd-bread. All the crusts and husks and morsels he kept in a\nshallow grass-basket, which his mother had plaited, to feed these\npillowy Squirrel-tails, the lean Skeetoes, and the spindle-legged\nflycatchers.\n\nBirds of all colours and many other odd little beasts came in the snow\nto Nod to be fed. He summoned them with the clapping of two sticks of\nivory together, till his brothers began to wonder how it was their\nvictuals were dwindling so fast. But once, when Thumb and Thimble were\naway in the forest with their jumping-poles, and he had ventured out on\nthis errand with his basket full of scraps, he forgot to put up the door\nbehind him. When he returned, skipping as fast as his fours would carry\nhim, wild pigs and long-snouted Brackanolls, Weddervols, and hungry\nbirds had come in and eaten more than half their store. The last of\ntheir mother's treasured cheese was gone, and all their Ummuz-cane. That\nnight Thumb and Thimble went very sulky to bed. And for the next few\ndays all three brothers sallied out together, with their poles,\nsearching and grubbing after every scrap of victuals they could find\nwith which to fill their larder again.\n\nSome time after this, so hard and sharp grew the cold that Thumb and\nThimble were minded to put on their red metal-hooked jackets when they\nwent out stick-gathering. They took their knives and nut-sacks over\ntheir shoulders, and muffled and bunched themselves up close, with\ncotton-leaves wound round their stomachs, and their skin caps pulled low\nover their round frost-enticing ears. And they told Nod to cook them a\nsmoking hot supper against the dark, for now the snow was so deep it was\na hard matter to find and carry sticks, and they meant to look for more\nbefore matters worsened yet. So Nod at once set to his cookery.\n\nHe made up a great fire on the hearthstone. But in spite of its flames,\nso louring with gathering snow-clouds was the day that he had to keep\nthe door down to give him clearer light; and, though he kept scuttling\nabout, driving out the thieving Brackanolls and Peekodillies that came\nnosing into the hut, and scaring away the famished birds that kept\nhopping in through the window-hole, even then he could not keep himself\nwarm. So at last he went to the lower cupboard, under the dangling\nPortingal, and took out his sheepskin coat. He put away the dried\nkingfisher which his mother had wrapped in the fleece to keep it sweet,\nand buttoned the ivory buttons, and skipped about nimbly over his\ncooking in that. Then he heaped more wood on--logs and brush and\nsmoulder-wood--higher and higher, till the flames leapt red, gold, and\nlichen-green out of the chimney-hole. Then he said to himself, flinging\nyet another armful on: \"Now Nod will go down and get some ice to melt\nfor water to make Sudd-bread.\" So he went down to the water-spring.\n\nAnd he stood watching the Mulgars frisking at the edge of the forest,\nvain that they should see him with his pole and basket, standing in his\nsheep's jacket. He broke up some ice and put in into his basket. Then he\nplodded over to his mother's grave and cleared away the hardened snow\nthat had fallen during the night on her little heap of stones. \"Kara,\nkara Mutta, Mutta-matutta,\" he whispered, laying his bony cheek on the\nstones--\"dearest Mutta!\" And while he stood there thinking of his\nmother, and of how he would go and bring down a pot of honeycomb for her\ndeath-shadow; and then of his father; and then of the strange journey\nthey were all going to set out on when Tishnar returned to her\nmountains; and then of his Wonderstone; and then of Assasimmon, Prince\nof the Valleys, his peacocks and Ummuz-cane, and Ummuz-cane, and\nUmmuz-cane--while he was thus softly thinking of all these happy things,\nhe suddenly saw the gigantic Ukka-tree above him, lit up marvellously\nred, and glowing as if with the setting of the sun. He shut his eyes\nwith dread, for he saw all the forest monkeys lit up too, stock-still,\nstaring, staring; and he heard a curious crackle and whs-s-s-ss.\n\nNod turned his little head and looked back over his shoulder. And\nagainst the snowy gloom of the forest he saw not only sparks, but\nflames, wagging up out of the chimney-hole. The door of the hut was like\nthe frame of a furnace. And a trembling fear came over him, so that for\na moment he could neither breathe nor move. Then, throwing down his\nbasket of ice, and calling softly, \"Mutta, O Mutta!\" he scrambled over\nthe snow as fast as he could and rushed into the hut. But he was too\nlate; before he could jump, spluttering and choking, out of the door\nagain, with just an armful of anything he could see, its walls were\nablaze. Dry and tangled, its roof burnt like straw--a huge red fire\npouring out smoke and flame, hissing, gushing, crackling, bubbling,\nroaring. And presently after, while Nod ran snapping his fingers,\ndancing with horror in the snow, and calling shriller and shriller,\n\n    \"Thumb, Thimble; Thimble, Thumb,\n     Leave your sticks and hurry home:\n     Thicker and thicker the smoke do come!\n     Thumb, Thimble; Thimble, Thumb!\"\n\nhe heard above the flames a multitudinous howling and squealing, and he\nlooked over his shoulder, and saw hundreds upon hundreds of faces in the\nforest staring out between the branches at the fire. By the time that\nThimble and Thumb in their red jackets were scampering on all fours,\nhelter-skelter, downhill out of the forest, a numberless horde of the\nForest-mulgars were frisking and howling round the blaze, and the flames\nwere floating half as high as Glint's great Ukka-tree. They squealed,\n\"Walla, walla!\" (water), grinning and gibbering one to another as they\ncame tumbling along; but they might just as well have called\n\"Moonshine!\" for every drop was frozen. Nor would twenty flowing springs\nand all Assasimmon's slaves have quenched that fire now. And when the\nForest-mulgars saw that the Mulla-mulgars had given up hope of putting\nthe fire out, they pelted it with snowballs, and scampered about,\ngathering up every stick and straw and shred they could find, and did\ntheir utmost to keep it in. For at last, in their joy that the little\nPortingal's bones were in the burning, and in their envy of the\nMulla-mulgars, their fear of fire was gone.\n\nAnd so Night came down, and there they all were, hand-in-hand in a huge\nmonkey-ring, dancing and prancing round the little Portingal's burning\nhut, and squealing at the top of their voices; while countless beasts of\nMunza-mulgar, too frightened of fire to draw near, prowled, with\nflame-emblazoned eyes, staring out of the forest. And this was the\nForest-mulgars' dancing-song:\n\n    \"Bhoor juggub duppa singlee--duppa singlee--duppa singlee;\n                    Bhoor juggub duppa singlee;\n                   Sal rosen ghar Bh[=o][=o]sh!\"\n\nThey sing at first in a kind of droning zap-zap, and through their\nnoses, these Munza-mulgar, their yelps gradually gathering in speed and\nvolume, till they lift their spellbound faces in the air and howl aloud.\nAnd with such a resounding shout and clamour on the Bh[=o][=o]sh you\nwould think they were in pain.\n\nFor the best part of that night the fire flared and smouldered, while\nthe stars wheeled in the black sky above the forest; and still round and\nround the Mulgars jigged and danced in the glistening snow. For the\nfrost was so hard and still, not even this great fire could melt it\nfifteen paces distant from its flames. And Thimble and Thumb in their\nred jackets, and Nod in his cotton breeches and sheepskin coat, shivered\nand shook, because they weren't hardened, like the Forest-mulgars, to\nthe icy night-wind that stole fitfully abroad.\n\nWhen morning broke, the fire had burned down to a smother, and most of\nthe dancing Mulgars had trooped back, tired out and sleepy, to their\ntree-houses and huddles and caverns and hanging ropes in the forest. But\nno sleep stole over those Mulla-sluggas, Thumb, Thimble, and Nod,\nsitting on their stones in the snow, watching their home-smoke drooping\ndown and down. Nod stared and stared at the embers, his teeth\nchattering, ashamed and nearly heart-broken. But his brothers looked now\nat the smoke, and now at him, and whenever they looked at Nod they\nmuttered, \"Foh! Mulla-jugguba, foh!\"--that is to say, \"Foh!\nRoyal-Flame-Shining One!\" or \"Your Highness Firebright!\" or \"What think\nyou now, Prince of Bonfires?\" But they were too sullen and angry, and\nNod was too downcast, even to get up to drive away the little\nmole-skinned Brackanolls and the Peekodillies which came nosing and\ngrunting and scratching in the ashes, in search of the scorched oil-nuts\nand the charred Sudd and Manaka-cake.\n\nThe three Mulla-mulgars sat there until the sun began to be bright on\ntheir faces and to make a splendour of the snow; then they did not feel\nquite so cold and miserable. And when they had nibbled a few nuts and\nberries which a friendly old Manquabee brought down to them, they began\nto think and talk over what they had best be doing now--at least, Nod\nlistened, while Thumb and Thimble talked. And at length they decided\nthat, their hut being burnt, and they without refuge from the cold, or\nany hoard of food, they would wait no longer, but set off at once into\nthe forest on the same long journey as their father Seelem had gone, to\nseek out their Uncle Assasimmon, Prince of the Valleys of Tishnar.\n\nThis once said, Thumb lifted his fat body stiffly from his stone, and\ntook his jumping-pole, and frisked high, leaping to and fro to make\nhimself warm again. Soon he began to tingle, and laughed out to cheer\nthe others when he tumbled head over heels into a snowdrift. And they\ncombed themselves, and stood up to their trouble, and thought\nstubbornly, as far as their monkey-wits would let them, only of the\nfuture (which is easier to manage than the past). Then they searched\nclose in the cooling ashes and embers of the hut, and found a few beads\nundimmed by the heat, and all the Margarita stones, which, like the\nSalamander, no flame can change; also, one or two unbroken pots and jars\nand an old stone kettle or Gh\u00f4b. Nod, indeed, found also a piece of gold\nthat had lain hid in the Portingal's rags. But all the little\nTraveller's bones except his left thumb knuckle-bone were fallen to\nashes. Nod gave Thumb the noddle of gold, and himself kept the\nknuckle-bone. \"S[=o][=o]tli,\"[5] he whispered, touched his nose with it,\nand put it secretly into his pocket. And glad were they to think that\nonly that morning they had fetched out their red jackets and Nod his\nwool coat.\n\n    [5] That is, Magic, or Strangeness. When the Mulgars of Munza\n        see anything strange or unknown, they will whimper to one\n        another, as they stand with eyes fixed, \"S[=o][=o]tli,\n        S[=o][=o]tli, S[=o][=o]tli,\" or some such sound.\n\nWhen the Forest-mulgars heard that the three brothers were setting out\non their long journey, they came trooping down from their leafy\nvillages, carrying presents, two skin water-bags (for the longed-for\ntime when the ice should bestir itself), a rough stone knife, a wild-bee\nhoneycomb, a plaited bag of dried Nanoes and nuts, and so on. But of\nthese Mulgar tribes few, like ants, or bees, or squirrels, make any\nstore, and none uses fire, nor, save one or two solitaries here and\nthere, can any walk upright or carry a cudgel. They munch and frisk and\nchatter, and scratch and quarrel and mock, having their own ways and\nwisdom and their own musts and mustn'ts. There are few, too, that\ncherish not some kindness, if not for all, at least for one another--the\nleopard to her cubs, the Coccadrillo to her eggs. But back to our\nMulla-mulgars.\n\nThe forest of Munza-mulgar saw a feast upon its borders that day. The\nForest-mulgars sat in a great ring, and ate and drank, and when the sun\nhad ascended into the middle of the sky and the snow-piled branches\nshone white as Tishnar's lambs, Thumb, Thimble, and Nod, rose up and\nsang, \"Gar Mulgar Dusangee\"--the Mulgars' Farewell. While they sang, all\nthe Forest-mulgars, in their companies and tribes, sat solemnly around\nthem, furred and coloured and pouched and tailed. Shave their chops and\nput them in breeches, they might well be little men. And they waved\nslowly palm-branches and greenery to the time of the tune; some even\nmoaned and grunted, too.\n\n    \"Far away in Nanga-noon\n     Lived an old and grey Baboon,[6]\n       Ah-mi, Sul\u00e2ni!\n     Once a Prince among his kind,\n     Now forsaken, left behind,\n     Feeble, lonely, all but blind:\n       Sul\u00e2ni, ghar magleer.\n\n    \"Peaceful Tishnar came by night,\n     In the moonbeams cold and white;\n       Ah-mi, Sul\u00e2ni!\n     'Far away from Nanga-noon,\n     Thou old and grey Baboon;\n     Is a journey for thee soon!'\n       Sul\u00e2ni, ghar magleer.\n\n    \"'Be not frightened, shut thine eye;\n     Comfort take, nor weep, nor sigh;\n     Solitary Tishnar's nigh!'\n       Sul\u00e2ni, ghar magleer.\n\n    \"Old Baboon, he gravely did\n     All that peaceful Tishnar bid;\n       Ah-mi, Sul\u00e2ni!\n     In the darkness cold and grim\n     Drew his blanket over him;\n     Closed his old eyes, sad and dim:\n       Sul\u00e2ni, ghar magleer.\"\n\n    [6] So I have translated \"Babbabooma.\"\n\nAnd here the Mulgars all lay flat, with their faces in the snow, and put\nthe palms of their hands on their heads; while the three Mulla-mulgars\npaced slowly round, singing the last verse, which, after the doggerel I\nhave made of the others, I despair of putting into English:\n\n    \"Talaheeti sul magloon\n     Olgar, ulgar Nanga-noon;\n       Ah-mi, Sul\u00e2ni!\n     Tishnar s[=o][=o]tli maltmahee,\n     Ganganareez soongalee,\n     Manni Mulgar sang suwhee:\n       Sul\u00e2ni, ghar magleer.\"\n\nThen the Mulla-mulgars cut down stout boughs to make cudgels, and,\nhaving tied up their few possessions into three bundles and filled their\npockets with old nuts, they took palm-leaves and honey-comb and withered\nscarlet and green berries, with which they canopied as best they could\ntheir mother's grave, nor forgot poor gluttonous Glint's. They stood\nthere in the snow, and raised their hands in lamentable salutation. And\neach took up a stone and jerked it (for they cannot throw as men do) as\nfar as he could towards the forest, as if to say, \"Go with us!\" Then,\nwith one last sorrowful look at the befrosted ashes of their hut, they\ntook up their bundles and started on their journey.\n\nAt first, as I have said, the Mulgar-track is wide, and even in this\ncontinually falling snow was beaten clear by hundreds of hand and foot\nprints. But after a while the lofty branches began to knit themselves\nabove, and to hang thickly over the travellers, and to shut out the\nlight. And the path grew faint and narrow.\n\nOne by one their friends waved good-bye and left them, until only Noll\nand Nunga (Mutta-matutta's only sister's only children) accompanied\nthem. Just before sunset, when the forest seemed like a cage of music\nwith the voices of the birds that now sang, many of them desperately\nfrom cold and hunger rather than for delight, Noll, too, and Nunga\nraised their hands, touched noses, and said good-bye. And the three\nbrothers stood watching them till they had waved their branches for the\nlast time. Then they went on.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nIt was now, what with the snow and what with natural evening, growing\nquickly dark. The birds had ceased to sing; only the Munza night-jar\nrattled. Now near, now far away, the Mulla-mulgars heard the beasts of\nthe forest beginning to range and roar in the gloom. Nod buttoned up his\nsheep's jacket, for there was a frost-mist beneath the trees. He was\ncold, and began to be tired and very homesick. But Thumb was broad and\nfat and prodigiously strong, Thimble lean and sinewy. And when Thumb saw\nthat Nod went stumbling under his bundle, he said: \"Give it to me,\nMulla-jugguba!\" (Prince of Bonfires). And Thimble laughed.\n\nBut Nod refused to give up his bundle, and trudged on behind his\nbrothers, until night came down in earnest. Then, when it was quite\ndark, after listening and muttering together, they thought that if they\nspent the night down here they would certainly sleep \"in danger.\" So\nThumb clambered into a great Ollaconda-tree, and let down a rope or\ntwist of the thick creeper called Cullum, and drew up all three bundles.\nThen Thimble pushed and Thumb pulled, and up went Nod, too stiff and\ncold to climb up by himself, after the bundles, sheep's-jacket and all.\nThen Thimble climbed up too. They made their supper of Mulgar-bread and\nfrost-cockled Mambel-berries, which are sour and quench the thirst, and\ndrank or sucked splinters of ice, plenty of which hung glassy in the\ngreat, still, winter-troubled tree. And for fear of leopards (or\n\"Roses,\" as their Munza name signifies), they agreed to keep watch in\nturn, Thumb first, then Thimble, then Nod. They tied their bundles to\nthe boughs, chose smooth forks to squat in, and soon Thimble was fast\nasleep.\n\nBut when Nod found himself alone in the midst of the great icy tree in\nthe black forest, he could not sleep for thinking of it. He stroked his\nface with his brown hand over and over to keep his eyes shut. He nuzzled\ndown into his sheep's-jacket. He counted his fingers again and again. He\nrepeated the lingo of the Seventy-seven Travellers from beginning to\nend. It was in vain. Far and near he heard the cries and wanderings of\nthe forest beasts; the Ollaconda-tree was full of the nests of the\nweaver-birds; and, worse still, soon Thimble began to snore so loud and\nso sorrowfully that poor Nod trembled where he sat. He could bear\nhimself no longer. He stooped forward and called softly: \"Thumb, my\nbrother, are you awake, Thumb?\"\n\n\"Sleep on, little Ummanodda,\" said Thumb; \"if I watch, I watch.\"\n\n\"But I cannot sleep,\" said Nod; \"these weavers chatter so.\"\n\nThumb laughed. \"Thimble sings in his dreams,\" he said. \"Why shouldn't\nthe little tailors sing, too?\"\n\n\"Do you think any leopards will come?\" said Nod.\n\n\"Think good things, my brother, not bad,\" Thumb answered. \"But this we\nwill do--wait a little while awake, and I will sleep, and as soon as\nsleep begins to come, call me and wake me; then, little brother, you\nshall sleep in peace till morning.\"\n\nHe put his head under his arm without waiting for an answer; and soon,\neven louder and more dismal than Thimble's, rose Thumb's snoring into\nthe Ollaconda-tree.\n\nNod sat cold and stiff, his eyes stretched open, his ears twitching. And\na thin moonlight began to tremble between the leaves. The light cheered\nhis spirits, and he thought, \"Nod will soon feel sleepy now,\" when\nsuddenly out of the gloom of the forest burst a sounder or drove of wild\npig, scuffling and chuggling beneath the tree. Peeping down, Nod could\njust see them in the faint moonshine, with their long, black, hairy ears\nand tufted tails.\n\nAnd presently, while they were grubbing in the snow, one lifted up its\nsnout and cried in a loud voice: \"Co-older--and colder!\"\n\n\"Co-older--and colder,\" cried another.\n\n\"Co-older--and colder,\" cried a third. And all silently grubbed on as\nbefore.\n\n\"The Queen of the Mountains is in the Forest,\" began the first again,\n\"with fingers of frost.\"\n\n\"And shoulders of snow.\"\n\n    [Illustration: \"THE QUEEN OF THE MOUNTAINS IS IN THE FOREST ... WITH\n    FINGERS OF FROST.\"]\n\n\"And feet of ice,\" screamed the third.\n\n\"The Queen of the Mountains,\" they grunted all together; and went on\nburrowing, and shouldering, and faintly squeaking.\n\n\"Hungrier and hungrier,\" cried one in a shrill voice, suddenly lifting\nits head, so that Nod could see quite clearly its pale green, greedy\nslits of eyes.\n\n\"Leaner and leaner,\" answered another.\n\n\"All the Sudd hid, all the Ukkas gone, all the B[=o][=o]bab frozen!\"\nsquealed a third.\n\n\"The Queen of the Mountains is in the Forest,\" they grunted all\ntogether. But the pig that had looked up into the tree was still\nstaring--staring and wrinkling his narrow snout, till at last all the\npigs stopped feeding. \"Pigs, my brothers; pigs, my brothers,\" he\nmuttered. \"Up in this tree are Mulgar three, which travellers be.... Ho,\nthere!\" But Nod thought it best to make no answer. And the pig turned\nround and beat with his hind-feet against the bole or trunk of the\nOllaconda. \"Ho, there, little Mulgar in the sheep-skin coat!\"\n\n\"If you beat like that, horny-foot, you'll wake my brothers,\" said Nod.\n\n\"Brothers!\" said the pig angrily. \"What's brothers to Ukka-nuts? What's\nyour names, and where are you going?\"\n\n\"My brothers' names,\" said Nod, \"are Thumma and Thimbulla, and I am Nod.\nWe are going to the palace of ivory and Azmamogreel that is our Uncle\nAssasimmon's, Prince of the Valleys of Tishnar.\" At that all the pigs\nbegan muttering together.\n\n\"Come down and tell us!\" said a lean yellow pig; and as he snapped his\njaws Nod saw in the moonbeam the frost-light blinking on his bristles.\n\n\"Tell you what?\" said Nod.\n\n\"About this Prince of Tishnar. Oh, these false-tongued Mulgars!\" Nod\nmade no answer.\n\nThen a fat old she-pig began speaking in a soft, pleasant voice. \"You\nmust be very, very rich, Prince Nod, with those great bags of nuts; and,\nsurely, it must be royal Sudd I smell! And Assasimmon his uncle! whose\nhouse is more than a thousand pigs'-tails long; and gardens so thick\nwith trees of fruit and honey, one groans to have only one stomach. Come\ndown a little way, Prince Nod, and tell us poor hungry pigs of the royal\nAssasimmon and the dainty food he eats.\"\n\nSo pleasant was her flattering voice Nod thought there could not\npossibly be any harm in scrambling down just one or two branches. And\nthough his fingers were still stiff with cold, he began to edge down.\n\n\"Oh, but bring a bundle--bring a bundle, little Prince. It's cold for\ngentlefolk sitting in the snow.\"\n\n\"Pigs--pigs must naked go; but not for gentlefolk the snow,\" squealed\nthe herd shrilly.\n\n\"Come gently, Prince Nod; do not stir your royal brothers, Prince Nod!\"\nsaid the old crafty one.\n\nNod listened to her flattery, and, having untied his precious bundle, he\nslid down with it softly to the ground.\n\n\"A seat--a seat for Prince Nod,\" cried the old sow. \"Oh, what a royal\njacket--oh, what a handsome jacket!\" So Nod sat down on his bundle in\nthe moonlight of the snow, and all the wild pig, scenting his Sudd,\npressed close--forty wild pig at least.\n\n\"Assasimmon, Assasimmon, Prince of Tishnar, Prince of Tishnar,\" they\nkept grunting, and at every word they squeezed and edged closer and\ncloser, their hungry snouts in air--closer and closer, till Nod had to\nhold tight to keep his seat; closer and closer, and again they began\nsquealing: \"Pigs are hungry, brother Nod. Cakes of Sudd, cakes of\n_Sudd_!\" And then, like a great scrambling wave of pigs, they rushed at\nhim all together. Over went Nod into the snow. Scores of little sharp\nhoofs scuttled over him. And when at last he was able to get up and look\nabout him, bruised and scratched and breathless, no trace of pigs was\nthere, no trace of bundle; every nut and crust of Sudd and crumb of\npulpy Mulgar-bread was gone. And suddenly came a loud, harsh voice out\nof the tree. \"Ho, ho, and ah\u00f4h! What's the trouble? what's the trouble?\"\nNod looked up, and saw Thumb and Thimble staring down between their\nout-stretched arms through the moon-silvery leaves. And he told them,\ntrembling, of how he could not sleep, and about the pigs and the bundle.\n\n\"O most wise Nizza-neela!\" said Thumb when he had finished. \"Last night\nMulla-jugguba; this night Nodda-nellipogo\" (Prince of Bonfires, Noddle\nof Pork). But Thimble was too sore to say anything, for his little\nExxswixxia-book of sorcery had been stuffed into Nod's bundle, and now\nit was lost for ever. And they left Nod to climb up again by himself.\nOnce safely back on his fork, he was so tired and miserable that, with\nhis hands over his face, he fell almost directly fast asleep.\n\nWhen he opened his small clear eyes again, sunrise was glinting here and\nthere through the green twilight on the icicles and snow in the trees.\nHe looked down, and saw Thumb and Thimble combing themselves. So down he\nwent, too, and took off his jacket, and skipped and frisked till he grew\nwarm. Then he, too, combed himself, and went and sat down beside his\nbrothers at the foot of the Ollaconda-tree to eat his morning's share of\nmusty nuts. At first his brothers sat angry and sullen, munching with\ntheir great dog-teeth, and seeming to begrudge him every Ukka-nut he\ncracked. But as the daybeams brightened, here where the trees grew not\nso dense, and the birds, some wellnigh as small as acorns, flashed and\nzigzagged, and Parrakeetoes squeaked and screamed in hundreds on the\nbranches, watching the three hungry travellers, they began to forget\nNod's supper with the pigs. And when they had eaten, into the gloom of\nMunza they set out once more.\n\nAs a dog smells out the footsteps of his master so these Mulla-mulgars\nseemed to smell out their way. No path was to be seen except where\npig-droves had rambled by, or droves of Mullabruks and packs of\nMunza-dogs. And once Thumb, on a sudden, stood still, and pointed to the\nground, opening his great grinning mouth, with its little wall of\nglistening teeth, and muttered, \"Roses!\" They stood together looking\ndown at the frozen footprints of a mother-leopard and her cubs in the\nfresh-laid snow. Nod fancied, even, he could smell her breath on the icy\nair. After this they went forward more warily, but carried their cudgels\nwith a bravery, looking very fierce in their red jackets and great caps\nof furry skins. And, after a while, the huge trees gathered in again,\nand soon arched loftily overhead as thick as thatch, so that it was all\nin a cold and sluggish gloom they walked, like the dusk of coming\nnight. Nor, so thick was the leafy roof overhead, had any snow floated\ninto its twilight. Only a rare frost shimmered on the spiky husks of\nfruit thrown down by the Tree-mulgars. Huge frozen ropes of Cullum and\nwild Pepper dangled in knots and loops from bough to bough, and\nsometimes a troop of Squirrel-tails or spidery Skeetoes swung lightly\ndown these hoar-frost ropes, chattering and scolding at the three\nstrangers. But though Thumb called to them in their own tongue.\n\"Ullalullaubbajub,\" or some such sounds as that, meaning, \"We are\nfriends,\" they skipped off, hand, foot, and tail, into their leafy roofs\nand shadows, afraid of these cudgel-carrying travellers in their red\njackets, who walked, like the dreaded Oomgar, heads in air.\n\nYet Nod was glad even of such company as this, so silent was the forest.\nIn this darkness they sat and ate their handful of food, with scorpions\nand speckled tree-spiders watching them from their holes, not knowing\nwhere the sun was, nor daring to kindle a fire with their fire-sticks\nfor fear of the tree-shadows. And at night they slept huddled close\ntogether for warmth and safety, while Thumb and Thimble kept watch in\nturn.\n\nIn this way many days passed almost without blink of sunlight. Once and\nagain they would sidle over some pig-track, or stand, with club in hand,\nto watch a leopard pass. And often troops of Mulgars kept pace with them\nawhile, swinging from branch to branch, and chattering threats at the\ntravellers. But most of the forest creatures, parched and famished by\nsuch a cold as had never fallen on Munza-mulgar before, had been driven\ndown out of the forest in search of food and warmth. And often the\ntravellers were compelled to search the bark of the trees and in the\ncrevices of rocks and under stones, as do the Babbaboomas, and eat\nwhatever creeping things they could find. Beside the dangling Skeetoes,\nand now and then father, mother, and chidderkins of some old sour-faced\nmournful Mullabruk, they saw few things living, except the little\nivory-gnawing M'boko, Peekodillies, and poison-spiders. But many of\nthese, too, had died of cold and hunger. And now, instead of the pale\ngreen and amber lamps of firefly and glowworm, burned only the fires of\nTishnar's frost. Birds rarely ventured down into this snowy shadowland,\nexcept only the tiny Telateuties, blood-red as ladybirds, that ran\nchittering up the trees. These birds haunt only where daylight rarely\nsteals, and it is said they talk with the tree-spirits, or giant\nN[=o][=o]mas, that roam these shades.\n\nAt last, their feet sore with poison-needles, which sometimes pierced\nclean through their thick skins, their eyes aching with the darkness,\nthe three travellers, on the eighth day, broke out of the dense forest\ninto broad daylight and shining snow again. Down and down they descended\ninto a frozen swampy valley. And about noon, half hidden in the fume and\nsteam of their own breath, they saw a great herd or muster of\nEphelantoes feeding. They stood in a line beyond Nod's counting--big,\nmiddling-sized, and little--tearing down the rime-laden branches of the\ntrees, whose leaves and fruits they first warmed with their\nbellows-breath before stuffing them into their mouths. The swampy ground\nshook with their tramplings. Nod gazed in wonder as he and his brothers,\nmarching abreast, paced softly but doggedly on. And very soon the\nwatchful eyes, that glitter small in the great stone-coloured heads of\nthese mountainous beasts, perceived the red jackets moving betwixt the\ngrasses. And a silence came; the beasts stopped feeding.\n\n\"Meelm[=u]tha glaren djhar!\" muttered Thumb.\n\nSo the Mulla-mulgars pushed quietly and bravely on, without turning\ntheir heads or letting their eyes wander. For it is said that there is\nnothing frets and angers these monsters so much as a watchful eye. They\nleave their feeding and wallowing, even the big Shes their suckling.\nTheir great bodies trembling, they stand in disquiet and unrest if but\njust one small clear eye beneath its lid be fixed too close or earnestly\nupon them. Oomgars, Mulgars, leopards--even down to the brooding\nMullabruk, with its clay-coloured face--they abhor all scrutiny. But why\nthis is so I cannot say.\n\nIt may be, then, that Nod, in his first wonder, dwelt too lingeringly\nwith his eye on these Lords of Munza: for a behemothian bull-Ephelanto,\nwith one of his tusks broken, lurched forward through the long grasses,\nhis tail stock-stiff behind him, and stood in their path. And as the\nMulgar travellers passed him by, he wound his long, two-fingered trunk\nround Nod's belly, shook him softly, and lifted him high above the sedge\ninto the air.\n\nAt this many other of the Ephelantoes stamped across the swamp and stood\nin the mist around him. Nod's hand was in his pocket and pressed against\nhis slim thigh-bone, and there, hard and round, he felt as in a dream\nhis Wonderstone. And he caught back his fears, and thus, up aloft,\ntwenty feet or more between earth and sky, he twisted his head and said\nsoftly: \"Deal with the Nizza-neela gently, Lord of the Forest; we are\nservants of Tishnar.\" At the sound of the name of Tishnar all the\nEphelantoes lifted up their trunks, and with a great blast trumpeted in\nunison. Whereupon the bull-Ephelanto that had, half in sport, tossed Nod\nup into the air set him gently on the earth again. And the three\nbrothers, hastening their hobbling pace a little, journeyed on once\nmore.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nA little before evening Thumb suddenly stopped, and stood listening.\nThey went on a little farther, and again he stood still, with lifted\nhead, snuffing the air. And soon they all heard plainly the sound of a\ngreat river. In the last light of sunset the travellers broke out of the\nforest and looked down on the waters of the deep and swollen Obea-munza.\nAlong its banks grew giant sedge, stiff and grey with frost like meal.\nIn this sedge little birds were disporting themselves, flitting and\ntwittering, with long plumes of every colour that changes in the\nsunlight, brushing off with their tiny wings the gathered hoarfrost into\nthe still sunset air. The Mulgars stood like painted wooden images, with\ntheir bundles and cudgels, staring down at the river, wide and\nturbulent, its gloomy hummocks of ice and frozen snow nodding down upon\nthe pale green waters. They glanced at one another as if with the\nquestion on their faces, \"How now, O Mulla-mulgars?\"\n\n\"'His country lies beyond and beyond,'\" muttered Thimble. \"'Forest and\nriver, forest, swamp, and river.' Could, then, our father Seelem walk on\nwater?\"\n\nThumb coughed in his throat. \"What matters it? He went: we follow,\" he\ngrunted stubbornly. \"We must journey on till our wings grow, Mulla\nThimble, or till your long legs can straddle bank to bank.\" And they all\nthree stared in silence again at the swirling icy water.\n\nNow, it was just beginning to be twilight, which is many times more\nbrief than England's in Munza, and the frozen forest was utterly still\nin the fading rose and purple, the beasts not yet having come down to\ndrink. And while the travellers stood listening, there came, as it were\nfrom afar off, the beating of a drum--seven hollow beats, and then\nsilence.\n\n\"What in Munza, Thumb, makes a noise like that?\" Nod whispered. \"Listen,\nlisten!\"\n\nThey all three hearkened again, with heads bent and eyes fixed, and soon\nonce more they heard the hollow drumming. Thumb shook his head uneasily.\n\n\"It is wary walking, my brothers,\" he said; \"maybe there are\nOomgar-nuggas [black men] by the riverside; or maybe it is one of the\ngreat hairy Gunga-mulgars whose country our father Seelem told me lies\nfive days' journey towards the daybreak. Whicheversoever, Mulla-mulgars,\nwe will hobble on and discover.\"\n\nThimble dropped lightly, and rested on all-fours a moment. His eyes\nsquinted a little, for he greatly feared the drumming they had heard.\n\nBut Thumb, moving softly, edged watchfully on, and Thimble and Nod\nfollowed as he led along the reedy bank of the river. Ever and again\nthey heard the drumming repeated, but it seemed no less distant, so they\nsquatted down to eat while there was light enough in the sky to find\nthe way from fingers to mouth. They sat down under a twisted\nB[=o][=o]bab-tree, opened their bundles, and took out the frosted nuts\nand fruits which they had lately gathered for their supper. But it was\nso bitterly cold by the waterside Nod could scarcely crack his shells\nbetween his chattering teeth. And now the waning moon was beginning to\nsilver river and forest. From the farther bank rose the cries of Munza's\nbeasts come down to drink, mournful, lean, and fierce from hunger and\ncold. Soon the long-billed river-birds began their night-talk across the\nwater. And while the Mulgars were sitting silently munching, out of the\nshadow before their faces came on her soundless pads a young\nshe-leopard, and with catlike face stood regarding them.\n\nThumb and Thimble dropped softly their hands, and very slowly stooped\ntheir stiff-haired heads. But the leopard, after regarding them awhile,\nand seeing them to be three together and Mulgars-royal, drew back her\nhead, yawned, and leapt lightly back into the shadowy grasses from which\nshe had stolen out. \"One Roses brings many,\" said Thumb sourly; \"let us\nhobble on, Mulla-mulgars, until we find a quieter sleeping-place.\"\n\nBut it was now so dark beside the river that the Mulgars had to stop and\nwalk on the knuckles of their hands, as do all the Munza-mulgars. And\nwhile they walked heedfully forward, they heard the trump-billed\nriver-birds calling their secrets one to another:\n\n    \"I see Mulgars, one, two, three,\n      Creeping, crawling, one, two, three.\"\n\nOnce Thumb trod on a forest-pig that was lying half dead with cold under\na root of Samarak. But the pig was too weak to squeal. Nod stooped and\ngave him three Ukka-nuts and a pepper-pod. \"There, pig,\" he said, \"tell\nyour brothers who stole my bundle that Nod Nizza-neela gave you these\nwhen you were frozen.\" And the pig, being a pig, opened its slits of\neyes and feebly snapped at his fingers. Nod laughed and hastened after\nhis brothers.\n\nOver the half-moon a cloud of snow was drawing, and soon the whispering\nflakes began to float again between the branches. The wind that blew\nsteadily down the river was sharp and icy. The travellers were afraid,\nif they slept in the trees again, they would be frozen. And if even one\nbig toe of any one of them got frost-bitten, how distant would the\nValley of Tishnar seem then! They heard, too, now and then the faint\nsounds of snapping twig and rustling reed, and a low whimpering growl\nwould sometimes set the giant grasses trembling. Stiff and crusted with\nfrost, and in constant danger of falling into the river, they crawled\nstubbornly on.\n\nAnd suddenly straight before them burned out a light in the darkness\nthat was neither of moon, star, nor frost-fire. On they rustled, very\nwarily now, because they knew somewhere here must lurk the Oomgar-nugga\nor Gunga-mulgar whose drumming they had heard. One by one they\npresently crept out of the sedge, and stood up a few paces from a kind\nof huddle or hut, standing crooked and smoking in the moonlight, and\nbuilt of two or three rows of huge stakes, three times plaited, very\nfast and close, with Samarak and withies of all kinds. It stood about\nthree Mulgars high, and its walls were more than four spans thick.\n\nThe light which the travellers had espied burning in the distance\nstreamed from a misshapen window-hole far above Thimble's head. The\nMulgars stood staring at one another in the shadow of the black forest,\nand now and then they would hear a rumble or clatter from behind the\nthick walls, and presently a sneeze or cough. After which would suddenly\nroll out the loud and hollow drumming of the great creature within.\n\nSo Thumb bade Nod climb softly on to Thimble's shoulder, and very slowly\nlift his face up and look in. Up went Nod, and softly drew his\nsheep-skinned head into the light. And the first thing he noticed was a\nwonderful steaming smell of broth cooking, and then, as he pushed his\nhead farther through the window-hole, he looked down into the hut. And\nhe saw, sitting there on a huge bench before his eating-board, a\ngigantic Gunga-mulgar in a shift or shirt of fish-skin. He was guzzling\ndown broth out of a gourd, and fishing for titbits of fish-fat in it\nwith a wooden prong or skewer. He knew his comfort, this ugly Gunga. He\nsat with crossed legs before a blazing fire. It shone on his fangs and\nteeth and flaming eyes. A huge axe, made out of a stone, hung on the\nwall. In one corner lay a heap of brushwood and fish-bones, and in a\nhole in the ground a pile of logs. There were skins, too, on the walls\nof fishes and birds and little furry beasts, and two fat hog-fish shone\nsilvery in the fire-light. Besides these, there was an Oomgar-nugga's\nbow of wood, thrice strung with twisted string. But what pleased Nod\nmost to see, as he peeped stealthily down through the thorny wattle\nwindow, was an old grey Burbhrie cat, which sat washing her face in\nfront of the fire.\n\nHe was still peeping and peering into the hut, when Thumb pinched his\nleg to bid him come down. So he slid cautiously down Thimble's back into\nthe cold moonlight again, and told his brothers all he had seen.\n\n\"Yes, Mulla-mulgars,\" he said, \"and beside his bow and his sharp-nosed\ndarts, he has three big knubbly cudgels in the corner higher than is\nNod. He sits there, muttering and chuffing and sticking a long wood spit\nin his soup, and then he coughs and says 'Ug!' and beats his black fists\non his chest till the flames shake.\"\n\nThumb's short thick scalp twitched to and fro as he sat on his heels,\nstaring into the moonlight. \"Is he very big and strong? Is he as broad\nand thick as Thumb?\" he said.\n\n\"He's sitting in a spangly shirt,\" said Nod, \"and his arms are like\nB[=o][=o]bab-roots--like B[=o][=o]bab-roots--and his eyes,\nMulla-mulgars, they burn in bony houses, and his face is black as\ncharcoal.\"\n\nThumb lifted his face uneasily and yawned. \"We will push on; we will not\nmeddle with the Gunga, my brothers,\" he said. \"Better sleep cold than\nnever wake.\" He laughed, and patted Nod on the head with his\nstump-thumbed hand, just as Seelem used to do when Nod was a baby. So\nthey crept softly past the huddle on their fours, turning their heads\nthis way, that way, snuffing softly along on an icy path that led\nthrough the sword-grass to the river's edge. And there, tossing lightly\non the water, they found a boat, or Bobberie, of Bemba-wood and skin\npegged down with wooden pegs. It was moored fast with a rope of Samarak,\nand two broad paddles lay inside it. All this the travellers saw faintly\nin the moonlit dusk. Far away they heard the barking and weeping of\nCoccadrilloes as they stooped together over the Bobberie, rising and\nfalling on the gloomy water.\n\n\"Let us not trouble the Gunga at his supper,\" said Thimble, \"but get in\nfirst and ask leave after.\"\n\nAnd Thumb began softly hauling on the rope. But the smooth round stone\non which they stood was coated green with ice, and as he pulled his foot\nslipped. He flung out his arms: down went Thumb; down went Nod. No\nsooner had their uproar died away than an angry and ogreish voice broke\nout from the hut. Thumb, with Thimble at his heels, had only just time\nenough to scramble off and hide himself in the giant sedge before down\nswung the gibbering Gunga on the crutches of his hairy arms to see what\nwas amiss, and who was meddling with his boat.\n\nThere he found Nod, floating like a sheeny bubble in his puffed-out\nsheep's-jacket on the icy water. He stooped down and clawed him up with\none enormous paw, and carried him off into his hut. Then, putting up the\nwooden door, he sat him down with a shout before his blazing fire.\n\n\"Oh\u00e9, oh\u00e9, oh\u00e9!\" he bellowed. \"Zutha mu beluthli zakketi zanga x[=u]t!\"\n\nNod, cold and trembling, lifted his little grey face out of his\nstreaming sheep's-coat and shook his head.\n\nThen the Gunga, seeing this crackle-shell did not understand his\nlanguage, bawled at him in Munza-mulgar: \"Thief, thief! What were you\nafter, fishing from great Gunga's boat?\" Nod shook his head again, for\nhe expected every moment that great hand to clutch him up and fling him\ninto the fire.\n\n\"Thief, thief, and son of a thief!\" squalled the Gunga again, opening\nhis great mouth.\n\nBut at that Nod's wits grew suddenly clear and still. \"Not so fast--not\nso fast, Master Gunga,\" he said. \"Mulla-mulgars are neither thieves nor\nsons of thieves. Squeal that at the Munza-mulgars, not at Ummanodda!\"\n\nThe old Gunga stared with jutting teeth. \"Mulla-mulgars,\" he grunted\nmockingly. \"Off with that sheep-skin, Prince of Fleas! I'll skin ye\n'fore I cook ye!\"\n\nNod stared bravely into the glinting sooty face. \"Gunga duseepi sooklar,\nby N[=o][=o]manossi's harp!\"\n\nThe old Gunga stooped closer on his fleshless legs and blinked. \"What\nknows a fly-catching Skeeto of N[=o][=o]manossi's harp?\" he said.\n\n\"What knows a fish-bait Gunga of the Princes of Tishnar?\" Nod answered,\nand calmly sat down beside the old Burbhrie cat on a log in front of the\nfire. The savage old Puss stretched out her claws, spread back her\ntufted ash-coloured ears, and with grey-green eyes stared fiercely into\nhis face. But Nod clutched tight his Wonderstone, and paid no heed; and\nsoon she lazily turned again to the flames, and began to purr like a\nnestful of Nikkanakkas.\n\nThe Gunga stared, too, snapped his great jaws, coughed, then beat with\nhis warty fist on his great breast. \"Oh\u00e9, oh\u00e9!\" he said. \"I meant no\nevil to the Mulla-mulgar. Princes of Tishnar journey not often past old\nGunga's house. I hutch alone, far from my own country, Royal Stranger,\nwith only my black-man's Bobberie for friend.\"\n\nNod, when he heard this, almost laughed out. \"Not now, 'Prince of\nBonfires,' nor 'Noddle of Pork,'\" he thought, \"but 'Royal Stranger,' and\n'Prince of Tishnar.'\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" he said aloud to the Gunga, \"tongues chatter best when they\nhave something good to say. I'll take a platter of soup with you, Friend\nof Fishes. And better still, I'll dry my magic coat.\" He slipped out of\nhis dripping jacket, and spread it out in front of the fire, and there\nhe sat, slim and silky, in his little cotton-leaf breeches, scratching\nPuss's head and pretending himself at home. But the old Fish-catcher's\nbloodshot eyes were watching--watching all the time. He was thinking\nwhat snug and beautiful breeches that sheep's-coat would make him this\nicy weather. But he thought, too, it would be best to speak civilly and\nsmoothly to his visitor--at least, for the present. Not even a\nGunga-mulgar cares to quarrel with peaceful Tishnar.\n\n\"Make yourself easy, Traveller,\" he said, nodding his peaked head with a\nhideous smile. \"The moon was at hide-and-seek when I found you in the\nwater; I could not see your royal countenance. But Simmul, she knows\nbest.\" The old Burbhrie cat turned to her master at sound of her name,\nput up her tufted paw towards Nod, and mewed.\n\n\"Oh\u00e9, oh\u00e9!\" said the Gunga mournfully. \"She's mewing 'Magic.' And what\nknows a feeble old Fish-catcher of Magic?\" He poured out some soup into\na bowl, put in a skewer, and handed it to Nod.\n\n\"I will hang the Royal Stranger's beautiful sheep's-coat on a hook,\" he\nsaid slyly. \"There it will dry much quicker.\"\n\nBut Nod guessed easily what he was after. Once hung up there, how was he\never going to reach his jacket down again? \"No, no,\" says he; \"it's\nnearly dry already.\"\n\nHe took the gourd of soup between his knees. It tasted strong of fish,\nand was green with a satiny river-weed; but it was hot and sweetish, and\nhe supped it up greedily. And just as he was tilting the bowl for the\nlast mouthful he looked up and saw Thumb's round, astonished face\nstaring in at the little dark window. He put down his gourd and burst\nout laughing.\n\n\"What makes the stranger laugh?\" said the old Gunga-mulgar. \"It's very\ngood broth.\"\n\n\"I was laughing,\" said Nod, \"laughing at that last fish I caught.\"\n\n\"Was it a big fish--a fat, heavy fish?\" said the Gunga.\n\nNod stared, with one eye shut and his head a little awry, at the two\nhog-fish dangling on the wall. \"Five times as big as them,\" he said.\n\n\"Five?\" said the Gunga.\n\n\"Five or six,\" said Nod.\n\n\"Or six!\" said the Gunga.\n\n\"Truly,\" said Nod softly, \"he fishes not for minnows who knows the magic\nfish-song of the Water-middens.\"\n\nThe old Gunga turned his great black skull, and beneath the beetling\nporches of his eyes glowered greedily on Nod. \"And what,\" he said\ncunningly--\"what song is that, O Royal Stranger?\" And he stooped down\nsuddenly and pushed Nod's jacket under the bench.\n\n\"Why do you push my sheep's-coat under the bench?\" said Nod angrily.\n\n\"I smelt--I smelt,\" said Gunga, throwing back his head, \"scorching. But\nsoftly, Mulla-mulgar. What is this Water-middens' song that catches\nfishes five--six times as big as mine? And if you know all this wisdom,\nand are truly a Prince of Tishnar, why do you sit here, this freezing\nnight, supping up a poor old Fish-catcher's broth?\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nBy this time, it was plain, Thimble and Thumb had found something to\nraise them to the window-hole, for Nod, as he glanced up, saw half of\nboth their astonished faces (one eye of each) peering in at the window.\nHe waved his lean little arms, and their faces vanished.\n\n\"Why do you wave your long thumbs in the air?\" said the old Gunga\nuneasily.\n\n\"I wave to Tishnar,\" said Nod, \"who watches over her wandering Princes,\nand will preserve them from thieves and cunning ones. And as for your\nfilthy green-weed soup, how should a Mulla-mulgar soil his thumbs with\ngutting fish? And as for the Water-middens' song, _that_ I cannot teach\nyou, nor would I teach it you if I could, Master Fish-catcher. But I can\ncatch fish with it.\"\n\nThe old Gunga squatted close on his stool, and grinned as graciously as\nhe could. \"I am poor and growing old,\" he said, \"and I cannot catch fish\nas once I could. How is that done, O Royal Traveller?\"\n\nNod stood up and put his finger on his lips. \"Secrets, Puss!\" says he,\nand stepped softly over and peeped out of the door. He came back.\n\"Listen,\" he said. \"I go down to the water--at daybreak; oh yes, just at\ndaybreak. Then I row out a little way in my little Bobberie, quite,\nquite alone--no one must be near to spy or listen; then I cast my nets\ninto the water and sing and sing.\"\n\n\"What nets?\" said the Gunga.\n\nNod dodged a crisscross with his finger in the air.\n\n\"S[=o][=o]tli, s[=o][=o]tli,\" mewed Puss, with her eyes half shut.\n\nThe old Gunga wriggled his head with his great lip sagging. \"What\nhappens then?\" said he.\n\n\"Then,\" said Nod, \"from far and near my Magic draws the fishes, head,\nfin, and tail, hundreds and hundreds, all to hear my Water-middens'\nlovely song.\"\n\n\"And what then?\" said Gunga.\n\n\"Then,\" said Nod, peeping with his eye, \"I look and I look till I see\nthe biggest fish of all--seven, eight, nine times as big as that up\nthere, and I draw him out gently, gently, just as I choose him, into my\nBobberie.\"\n\n\"And wouldn't _any_ fish come to the little Prince unless he fished\nalone?\" said the greedy Gunga.\n\n\"None,\" said Nod. \"But there, why should we be gossiping of fishing? My\nboat is far away.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the Gunga cunningly, \"I have a boat.\"\n\n\"Oh\u00e9, maybe,\" said Nod easily. \"One cannot drown on dry land. But I did\nspeak of a Bobberie of skin and Bemba-wood, made by the stamping\nOomgar-nuggas next the sea.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said the Gunga triumphantly, \"but that's just what my Bobberie\n_is_ made of, and I broke the backbone of the Oomgar-nugga chief that\nmade it with one cuff of my cudgel-hand.\"\n\nNod yawned. \"Tishnar's Prince is tired,\" he said, \"and cannot talk of\nfishes any more. A bowlful more broth, Master Fish-catcher, and then\nI'll just put on my jacket and go to sleep.\" And he laughed, oh, so\nsoftly to himself to see that sooty, gluttonous, velvety face, and the\nred, gleaming eyes, and the thick, twitching thumbs.\n\n\"Ootz nuggthli!\" coughed the Gunga sourly. He ladled out the broth,\nbobbing with broken pods, with a great nutshell, muttering angrily to\nhimself as he stooped over the pot. And there, as soon as he had turned\nhis back, came those two dark wondering faces at the window, grinning to\nsee little Nod so snug and comfortable before the fire.\n\nAnd when the Gunga had poured out the broth, he brought his stool nearer\nto Nod, and, leaning his great hands on the floor, he said: \"See here,\nPrince of Tishnar, if I lend you my skin Bobberie to-morrow morning,\nwill you catch _me_ some fish with your magic song?\"\n\nNod frowned and stared into the fire. \"The crafty Gunga would be peeping\nbetween the trees,\" he said, \"and then----\"\n\n\"What then?\" said he.\n\n\"Then Tishnar's Meermuts would come with their silver thongs and drive\nyou squalling into the water. And the Middens would pick your eyes out,\nMaster Fish-catcher.\"\n\n\"I promise, I promise,\" said the old Gunga, and his enormous body\ntrembled.\n\n\"Where is this talked-of Bobberie?\" said Nod solemnly. \"Was it that old\nlog Nod saw when whispering with the Water-middens?\"\n\n\"Follow, follow,\" said the other. \"I'll show the Prince this log.\" But\nfirst Nod stooped under the bench, and pulled out his sheep's-coat and\nput it on. Then he followed the old Fish-catcher down his frosty path\nbetween its banks of snow, clear now in the silver shining of the moon.\n\nThe Fish-catcher showed him everything--how to untie the knotted rope of\nSamarak, how to use the paddles, where the mooring-stone for deep water\nwas. He held it up in his hand, a great round stone as big as a\nmillstone. Nod listened and listened, half hiding his face in his jacket\nlest the Gunga-mulgar should see him laughing. Last of all, the\nFish-catcher, lifting him lightly in his hand, pointed across the turbid\nwater, and bade him have care not to drift out far in his fishing, for\nthe stream ran very swiftly, the ice-floes or hummocks were sharp, and\nunder the Shining-one, he said, snorting River-horses and the weeping\nMumbo lurk.\n\n\"Never fear, Master Fish-catcher,\" said Nod. \"Tishnar will watch over\nme. How many big fish, now, can the old Glutton eat in comfort?\"\n\nThe Gunga lifted his black bony face, and glinted on the moon. \"Five\nwould be good,\" he said. \"Ten would be better. Oh\u00e9, do not count, Royal\nTraveller. It makes the head ache after ten.\" And he thought within\nhimself what a fine thing it was to have kept this Magic-mulgar, this\nPrince of Tishnar, for his friend, when he might in his rage have flung\nhim clean across Obea-munza into that great B[=o][=o]bab-tree grey in\nthe moon. \"He shall teach me the Middens' song, and then I'll fish for\nmyself,\" he thought, all his thick skin stirring on his bones with\ngreed.\n\nSo he cozened and cringed and flattered, and used Nod as if he were his\nmother's son. He made him lie on his own bed; he put on him a great skin\near-cap; he filled a bowl with the hot fish-water to bathe his feet; and\nhe fetched out from a lidded hole in the floor a necklet of scalloped\nBamba-shells, and hung it round his slender neck.\n\nBut Nod, as soon as he lay down, began thinking of those poor\nMulla-mulgars, his brothers, hungry and shivering in the tree-tops. And\nhe pondered how he could help them. Presently he began to chafe and toss\nin his bed, to sigh and groan.\n\nUp started the old Gunga from his corner beside the fire. \"What ails the\nPrince? Why does he groan? Are you in pain, Mulla-mulgar?\"\n\n\"In pain!\" cried Nod, as if in a great rage, \"How shall a Prince sleep\nwith twice ten thousand Gunga fleas in his blanket?\"\n\nHe got up, dragging after him the thick Munzaram's fleece off his bed,\nand, opening the door, flung it out into the snow. \"Try that, my hungry\nhopping ones,\" he said, and pushed up the door again. \"Now I must have\nanother one,\" he said.\n\nThe old Fish-catcher excused himself for the fleas. \"It is cold to comb\nin the doorway,\" he said, rubbing his flat nose. And he took another\nwoolly skin out of his earth-cupboard and laid it over Nod.\n\n\"That's one for Thumb,\" Nod said to himself, laughing. And presently\nonce more he began fretting and tossing. \"Oh, oh, oh!\" he cried out,\n\"What! More of ye! more of ye!\" and with that away he went again, and\nflung the second ram's fleece after the first.\n\n\"Master Traveller, Master Traveller!\" yelped the old Fish-catcher,\nstarting up, \"if you throw all my blankets out, those thieves the\nsmudge-faces will steal them.\"\n\n\"Better no blankets than a million fleas,\" said Nod; \"and yours, Master\nFish-catcher, are as greedy as Ephelanto tics. And now I think I will\nsleep by the fire, then the first peep of day will shine in my eyes from\nthat little window-hole up there, and wake me to my fishing.\"\n\n\"Udzmutchakiss\" (\"So be it\"), growled the Gunga. But he was very angry\nunderneath. \"Wait ye, wait ye, wait ye, my pretty Squirrel-tail,\" he\nkept muttering to himself as he sat with crossed arms. \"For every\nblanket a Bobberie or great fish.\"\n\nBut Nod had never felt so merry in his life. To think of his brothers\nwrapped warm in the Gunga-mulgar's blankets!--He laughed aloud.\n\n\"What ails the Traveller? What is he mocking at now?\" said the\nFish-catcher, glowering out of his corner.\n\n\"Why,\" said Nod, \"I laughed to hear the mice in this box hanging over my\nhead.\"\n\n\"Mice?\" said the Gunga.\n\n\"Why, yes; a score or more,\" said Nod. \"And one old husky Muttakin keeps\nsaying, 'Nibble all, nibble all; leave not one whole, my little pretty\nones--not the crumb of a crumb for the ugly old glutton.' I think, O\ngenerous Gunga, she means the bread of Sudd, I smell.\"\n\nAt that the Gunga flamed up in a fury. He rushed to his food-box,\nshouting, \"Will ye, oh, will ye, ye nibbling thieves!\" And, opening the\ndoor, he flung it after the blankets--Sudd-loaves, Nanoes, river-weed,\nand all. And he stood a minute in the doorway, looking out on the cold,\nmoonlit snow.\n\n\"Shut to the door, shut to the door, Master Fish-catcher,\" called Nod.\n\"I hear a distant harp-playing.\"\n\nThe Gunga very quickly shut the door at that. But he came to the fire\nand stood leaning on his hand, looking into it, very sullen and angry.\n\"Did I not say it, Prince of Tishnar?\" he said. \"My blankets are gone\nalready. Stolen!\"\n\n\"Sleep softly, my friend,\" said Nod, \"and weary me not with talking.\nThere's better rams in the forest than ever were flayed. Your blankets\nwill creep back, never fear. Even to a Mullabruk his own fleas! But,\nthere! I'll make magic even this very moment, and to-morrow, when you go\ndown to the river to fetch up the fish, there shall your blankets be,\nfolded and civeted, on the stones by the water.\"\n\nThen he rose up in his littleness, and began to dance slowly from one\nfoot to the other, waving his lean arms over the fire, and singing, in\nthe secret language of the Mulla-mulgars, as loud as ever he could:\n\n    \"Thumb, Thimble, Mulgar meese,\n      In your blankets dream at ease,\n    And never mind the frozen fleas;\n      But don't forget the loaves and cheese!\"\n\n\"It is very strange magic,\" said the Fish-catcher.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Nod; \"they were very strange fleas.\"\n\n\"And 'Thumthimble'--what does that mean?\"\n\n\"'Thumb' means short and fat, and 'Thimble' means long and lean, which\nis Mulgar-royal for both kinds, Master Fish-catcher.\"\n\n\"Oh\u00e9! the Prince knows best,\" said the old Gunga; \"but _I_ never heard\nsuch magic. And I've watched the Dancing Oomgars leagues and leagues\nfrom here, and drummed them home to their Shes.\"\n\nNod yawned.\n\nAs soon as it was daybreak the old Fish-catcher, who had scarcely slept\na wink for thinking of the fishes he was to have for his breakfast, came\nand woke Nod up. And Nod said: \"Now I go, Master Fish-catcher; but be\nsure you do not venture one toe's breadth beyond the door till you hear\nme bringing back the fishes.\"\n\n\"How can the Prince carry them, fishes big as that?\" said the Gunga.\n\n\"One at a time, my friend, as Ephelantoes root up trees,\" said Nod,\nstaring at his bristling arms and tusks of teeth. \"Oh\u00e9!\" he went on,\n\"when you hear my sweet-sounding Water-middens' song, you will not be\nable to keep yourself from peeping. You must be bound with Cullum,\nMaster Fish-catcher. Oh, I should weep riversful of salt tears if the\nWater-middens picked your gentle eyes out.\"\n\nAt first the cunning old Gunga would not consent to be bound up. But Nod\nrefused to stir until he did. So at last he fetched a thick rope of\nSamarak (which is stronger and tougher than Cullum) out of his old\nchest or coffer, and Nod wound it round and round him--legs, arms, and\nshoulders--and tied the ends to the great fish-scaly table.\n\n\"Sit easy, my friend,\" said he; \"my magic begins wonderfully to burn in\nme.\" And, without another word, he skipped out and pulled up the door\nbehind him.\n\nWords could not tell how rejoiced were his brothers to see him from\ntheir tree-tops come frisking across the snow. Away went the travellers\nin the first light, hastening like thieves in their jackets, Nod in his\nsheep's-coat leading the way. They left the blankets as Nod had promised\nthe Gunga. Then, one, two, three, they pushed the Bobberie into deep\nwater. In jumped Nod, in jumped Thimble, in jumped Thumb. Out splashed\nthe heavy paddles, and soon the Bobberie was floating like a cork among\nthe ice-humps in the red glare of dawn. They shoved off, Thumb at one\npaddle, Thimble and Nod at the other. The farther they floated, the\nswifter swept the water. And soon, however hard they pushed at the heavy\npaddles, the Bobberie began twirling round and round, zig-zagging faster\nand faster down with the stream.\n\nBut scarcely were they more than fifteen fathoms from the bank when a\nshrill and piercing \"Illa olla! illa olla!\" broke out behind them. No\nneed to look back. There on the bank in his glistening fish-skins,\ngnashing his teeth and beating with his crusted hands on the drum of his\ngreat chest, stood the terrible Gunga-mulgar, his Samarak-ropes all\nburst asunder. He stooped and tore up huge stones and lumps of ice as\nbig as a sheep, and flung them high into the air after the tossing\nBobberie. Splash, splash, splash, they fell, around the three poor\nsweating travellers, drenching them with water and melting snow. The\nfaster they paddled the faster swirled the water, and the thicker came\ntumbling the Gunga's huge boulders of stone and ice. Let but one fall\nplump upon their Bobberie, down they would go to be Mumbo-meat for good\nand all. But ever farther the surging water was sweeping them on.\nSuddenly the hailstones ceased, and they spied their dreadful enemy\nswinging furiously back on his thick five-foot arms.\n\n\"Gone, gone!\" cried Thimble in triumph, leaning breathless on his\npaddle.\n\n\"Crow when your egg's hatched, brother Thimble,\" muttered Thumb. \"He's\ngone to fetch his bow.\"\n\nTrue it was. Down swung the gibbering Gunga, his Oomgar-nugga's bow\nacross his shoulder. Crouching by the water-side, he stretched its\nstring with all his strength. And a thin, keen dart sung shrill as a\nparakeet over their heads. Again, again, and then it seemed to Nod a\nred-hot skewer had suddenly spitted him through the shoulder, and he\nknew the Fish-catcher had aimed true. He plucked the arrow out and waved\nit over his head, scrunching his teeth together, and saying nothing save\n\"Paddle, Thimble! Paddle, O Thumb!\"\n\nMightily they leaned on their broad, unwieldy paddles. But now, not\nlooking where the water was sweeping them, of a sudden the Bobberie\nbutted full tilt into a great hummock of ice, and water began welling up\nthrough a hole in the bottom. Nod knelt down, and, while his brothers\npaddled, he flung out the water as fast as he could with his big\nfish-skin cap. But fast though he baled, the water rilled in faster, and\njust as they floated under a long, snow-laden branch of an\nOllaconda-tree, the Bobberie began to sink.\n\nThen Thimble cried in a loud voice, \"Guzza-guzza-nahoo!\" and, with a\ngreat leap, sprang out of the boat and caught the drooping branch. Thumb\nclutched his legs and Nod Thumb's; and there they were, all three\nswinging over the water, while the branch creaked and trembled over\ntheir heads.\n\nDown sank the staved-in Bobberie, and up--one, two, three, four,\nfive--floated huge, sluggish Mumboes or Coccadrilloes, with dull,\ngrass-green eyes fixed gluttonously on the dangling Mulgars. And a thick\nmuskiness filled the air around them.\n\nInch by inch Thimble edged along the bough, until, because of the\njutting twigs and shoots, he could edge no farther. Then, slowly and\nsteadily at first, but gradually faster, the three travellers began to\nswing, sweeping to and fro through the air, above the enraged and\nsnapping Coccadrilloes. The wind rushed past Nod's ears; his jacket\nflapped about him. \"Go!\" squealed Thumb; and away whisked Nod, like a\nflying squirrel across the water, and landed high and dry on the bank\nunder the wide-spreading Ollaconda-tree. Thumb followed. Thimble, with\nonly his own weight to lift, quickly scrambled up into the boughs above\nhim. And soon all three Mulla-mulgars were sitting in safety, munching\nwhat remained of the Gunga's Sudd-bread, and between their mouthfuls\nshouting mockery at the musky Coccadrilloes.\n\nWhile they were thus eating happily together Thumb suddenly threw up his\nhands and called: \"Blood, blood, O Ummanodda--blood, red blood!\" And\nthen it seemed to Nod, trees, sky, and river swam mazily before his\neyes. Darkness swept up. He rolled over against a jutting root of the\nOllaconda, and knew no more.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nWhen Nod opened his eyes again, he found himself blinking right into the\nmiddle of a blazing fire, over which hung sputtering a huddled carcass\non a long black spit. Nod's head ached; his shoulder burned and\nthrobbed. He touched it gently, and found that it was swathed and bound\nup with leaves that smelt sleepily sweet and cool. He looked around him\nas best he could, but at first could see nothing, because of the\nbrightness of the flames. Gradually he perceived small grey creatures,\nwith big heads and white hands, that reached almost to the ground,\nhastening to and fro. His smooth brown poll stood up stiff with terror\nat sight of them, for he knew he must be lying in the earth-mounds of\nthe flesh-eating Minimuls.\n\n    [Illustration: THE WONDERSTONE.]\n\nMemories one by one returned to him--the Bobberie, the river, the\nyapping Coccadrilloes, the burning dart. One thing he could not\nrecall--how he came to be lying alone and helpless here in the\nroot-houses of these cunning enemies of all Mulgars, great and small. He\nremembered the stories Mutta-matutta used to tell him of their snares\nand poisons and enticements; of their earth-galleries and their horrible\nflesh-feasts at the full moon. His one comfort was that he still lay in\nhis sheep's jacket, and felt his little Wonderstone pressed close\nagainst his side.\n\nWhen one of the Minimuls that stood basting the spit saw that Nod was\nawake he summoned others who were standing near, and many stooped softly\nover, staring at him, and whispering together. Nod put his finger to his\ntongue, and said, \"Walla!\" One of them instantly shuffled away and\nbrought him a little gourd of a sweetish juice like Keeri, which greatly\nrefreshed him.\n\nThen he called out, \"Mulgars, Mulla-mulgars?\" This, too, they seemed at\nonce to understand. For, indeed, Seelem had told Nod that these Minimuls\nare nothing but a kind of Munza-mulgar, though their faces more closely\nresemble the twilight or moonshine Mulgars, and for craft and greed the\ndwarf Oomgar-nuggas, that long ago had trooped away beyond Arakkaboa.\nNod heard presently many faint voices, and then thick guttural cries of\npain and anger. And by turning a little his head he could see a host of\nthese mouse-faced mannikins tugging at a rope. At the end of this rope,\nall bound up with Cullum, with sticky leaves plastered over their eyes,\nand hung with dangling festoons of greenery and flowers, like\njacks-in-the-green, Thumb and Thimble hobbled slowly in from under an\nearthen arch. Nod was weak with pain. He cried out hollowly to see his\nbrothers blind and helpless.\n\nThumb heard the sound, and answered him boldly in Mulgar-royal. \"Is\nthat the voice of my brother, the Mulla-mulgar, Nizza-neela Ummanodda?\"\n\n\"O Thumb!\" Nod groaned, \"why am I here in comfort, while you and Thimble\nare dragged in, bound with Cullum, and hung all over with dreadful\nleaves and flowers?\"\n\n\"Have no fear, Prince of Bonfires,\" said Thumb with a laugh. \"The\nMinimuls caught us smelling at their Gelica-nuts, and sleeping in the\nwarmth of their earth-mounds. We were too frozen and hungry to carry you\nany farther. They are fattening us for their Moon-feast. But it will be\nlittle more than a picking of bones, Ummanodda. And even if they do spit\nup over their fire, we will taste as sweet as Mulla-mulgars can.\" And he\nburst out into such a squeal of angry laughter the Minimuls began\nchattering again and waving their hands.\n\n\"Talk not of meat and bones to me, Thumb. If you die, I die too. Tell\nme, only so that they do not understand, what is Nod to do.\"\n\nThen Thimble, who was standing in the shadow, hobbled a little nearer\ninto the light of the fire, and lifting up his leaf-smeared face as if\nto see, said: \"Have no fear for yourself, Nod. They have caught us, but\nnot for long. But you they dare not frizzle a hair of, little brother,\nbecause of Tishnar's Wonderstone sewn up in your sheep's-coat. They have\nsmelt out its magic. Keep the stone safe, then, Ummanodda, and, when you\nare alone, rub it S[=a]maweeza as Mutta told you before she died.\nTishnar, perhaps, will answer. See only that none of these miching\nmouse-faces are near. Had we but been awake when they found us!...\"\n\nBut the Minimuls began to grow restless at all this palaver, for, though\nthe Munza-mulgar tongue is known to them, they cannot understand, except\na word here and there, the secret language of Mulgar-royal. So they laid\nhold of the Cullum-ropes again, and lugged Thumb and Thimble back under\nthe sandy arch through which they had come. Thumb had only time enough\nto cry in a loud voice, \"Courage, Nizza-neela,\" before he was dragged\nagain out of sight and hearing.\n\nAnd Nod remembered that when the Gunga-mulgar had led him down out of\nhis huddle to show him the Bobberie, the moon was shining then at\ndwindling halves. So he knew that, unless many days had passed since\nthen, it would be some while yet before these Minimuls made their\ncannibal Moon-feast. He lay still, with eyes half shut, thinking as best\nhe could, with an aching head and throbbing shoulder.\n\nThe firelight glanced on the earthy roof far above him. Here and there\nthe contorted root of some enormous forest-tree jutted out into the air.\nThere was a continued faint rustle around him, as of bees in a hive or\nants in a pine-wood. This was the shuffling of the Minimuls' shoes,\nwhich are flat, like sandals, and made of silver grass plaited together,\nthat rustles on the sandy floor of their chambers and galleries. This\nplaited grass they tie, too, round their middles for a belt or pouch,\nbeneath which, as they walk, their long lean tails descend. Their fur\nshines faintly shot in moon or firelight, and is either pebble-grey or\nsand-coloured. It never bristles into hair except about their polls and\nchops, where it stands in a smooth, even wall, about one and a half to\ntwo inches high, leaving the remnant of their faces light and bare.\nThey stand for the most part about three spans high in their grass\nslippers. Their noses are even flatter than the noses of the Mullabruks.\nTheir teeth stand out somewhat, giving their small faces a cunning\nmouse-look, which never changes. Their eyes are round and thin-lidded,\nand almost as colourless as glass. Yet behind their glassiness seems to\nbe set a gleam, like a far and tiny taper shining, so that they are\nperfectly visible in the dark, or even dusk. Thus may they be seen, a\nhorde of them together in the evening gloom of the forest when they go\nMulgar-hunting. When they are closely looked on, they can, as it were\nwithin their eyes, shut out this gleam--it vanishes; but still they\ncontinue to see, though dimly. By day their eyes are as empty as pure\nglass marbles. Their smell is faintly rank, through eating so much\nflesh. The she and young Minimuls feed in the deeper chambers of their\nmounds, and never venture out.\n\nNod was falling into a nap from weariness and pain, when there came\nspindling along an old sallow-hued Earth-mulgar, whose eyes were pink,\nrather than glass-grey, like the others. He shook his head this way,\nthat way, muttering his magic over Nod; then, with a mottled gourd\nbeside him, he very gently and dexterously rolled back the strip or\nbandage of leaves on Nod's shoulder, and peered close into his poisoned\nwound. He probed it softly with his hairless fingers. Then out of the\npouch hanging on his stomach he took fresh leaves, smeared and stalked,\na little clay pot of green healing-grease, and anointed the sore. This\nhe rubbed ever so smoothly with his two middle fingers. After which he\nbound all up again so skilfully with leaves and grass that it seemed to\nNod his wounded shoulder was the easiest and most comfortable part of\nhis body. Out of his pinkish eyes he gazed greedily into Nod's face for\na moment, and took his departure.\n\nAfter he had gone, Nod smoothed his face, and with his own comb combed\nhimself as far as he could reach without pain. Presently shuffled along\ntwo or three more of the Mouse-faces carrying roasted Nanoes and\nMambel-berries, and a kind of citron, like a Keeri, very refreshing;\nalso a little gourd of very thin Subbub. But, although he was too\nwretched and too much afraid to be hungry, and shuddered at sight of the\nMinimul food, Nod knew he must quickly grow strong if ever he and his\nbrothers were to reach the Valleys of Tishnar. So he ate and drank, and\nwas refreshed. Then he turned to a little sleek Minimul that tended him,\nand asked him in Munza-mulgar: \"Is it day--sunshine? Is it day?\"\n\nThe little creature shook his head and shut his eyes, as if to signify\nhe did not understand the question.\n\nNod at that shut his eyes too, and laid his cheek on his lean little\nhand, as if to say, \"Sleep.\"\n\nThereupon eight thickish Minimuls came--four on either side--and hoisted\nup by its handles the grass mat on which he lay, while others went\nbefore, strewing dried leaves and a kind of forest-flower that smells\nlike mint when crushed, and carrying lanterns of candle-worms, while\nothers waddled with them, beating on little tambours of Skeeto-skin--all\nthis because Nod breathed magic, part his own, part his Wonderstone's.\n\nThey laid him down in a sandy chamber strewn with flowers. And, bowing\nmany times, their heads betwixt their rather bandy legs, they left him.\nWhen they were gone, Nod wriggled softly up and looked about him. The\nchamber was round and caved, and on the walls were still visible the\nmarks of the Minimuls' hands and scoops which had hollowed it out.\nThrough the roof a rugged root pierced, crossed over, and dipped into\nthe earth again. The candle-worms cast a gentle sheen on the golden\nsanded walls. Hung from the roof were strings of dried flowers, shedding\nso heavy and languid a smell in the narrow chamber that Nod's drowsy\neyelids soon began to droop. His bright eyes glanced like fireflies,\ndarting to and fro with his thoughts. But the odour of the flowers soon\nsoothed them all to rest. Nod fell asleep.\n\nThe next day (that is, the next Minimul day, which is Munza night) crept\nslowly by. Nod was never left alone. Every hour the little\nsoft-shuffling Mouse-faces tended and fed and watched him, and burnt\nlittle magic sticks around him. Three dead Skeetoes, with fast-shut\neyes, lay on the floor, shot by their poisoned darts in the dusk of the\nevening, when he was carried into the big fire-chamber, or kitchen,\nagain. They were soon skinned and trussed by the hungry Minimuls, and\nstretched along the spit. The smell of their roasting rose up in smoke.\nAt last came sleeping-time again. And then, when all was silent, Nod\nrose softly from his grass-mat, and stealing down the low, narrow\nearth-run, looked out into the kitchen where he had lain all day. The\nfire was dying in faintly glowing embers. All was utterly still. But\nwhich way should he go now, he wondered, to seek his brothers? And which\nof these dark arches led to the open forest, the snow, and the\nAssasimmon?\n\n    [Illustration: NOD WAS NEVER LEFT ALONE.]\n\nHis quick eyes caught sight of the thin smoke winding silently up from\nthe logs. Somewhere that must escape into the air. But on high it was so\ndim he could scarcely see the roof, only the steep walls, ragged with\nsnake-skins, and the huge pods of the silky poison-seed. He crept\nstealthily under one of the arches hung at the entrance with the dried\ncarcass of a little fierce-faced, snow-white Gunga cub, and presently\ncame to where, all in their sandy beds, with their tails curled up, side\nby side in double rows, the mousey Earth-mulgars slept. He returned to\nthe kitchen, and called softly in the hollow cavern, \"Thumb, Thumb!\"\n\nOnly his own voice echoed back to him. Yet a sound feeble as this awoke\nthe light-sleeping Minimuls. For their mounds echo more than mere\nhollowness would seem to make them. The lightest stir or footfall of\nbeast walking above in Munza may be heard. Nod had only just time enough\nto scamper up his own narrow corridor and throw himself on his mat\nbefore a score of shuffling footfalls followed, and he felt many glassy\neyes peering closely into his face.\n\nAll the rest of that night (and for the few nights that followed)\nMinimuls stood behind his bed beating faintly on their skin Z[=o][=o]ts\nor tambours, while two others sat one on each side of him with fans of\nsoporiferous Moka-wood. But though they might lull Nod's lids asleep,\nthey couldn't still his busy brain. He dreamed and dreamed. Now, in his\ndreams he was come in safety to his Uncle Assasimmon's, and they were\nall rejoicing at a splendid feast, and he was dressed in beads from neck\nto heel, with a hat of stained ivory and a peacock's feather. Now he was\nalone in the forest in the dark, and a Talanteuti was lamenting in his\near, \"N[=o][=o]m-anossi, N[=o][=o]m-anossi.\" And now it seemed he sat\nbeneath deep emerald waters in the silver courts of the Water-middens,\namid the long gold of their streaming hair. But he would awake babbling\nwith terror, only to smell the creeping odour on the air of broiling\nMulgar.\n\nOne day came many Earth-mulgars from distant mounds to see this Prince\nof Magic whom their kinsmen had captured in the forest. They stared at\nhim, sniffed, bowed, and burned smoulder-sticks, and then were led off\nto stare too at fat Thumb and fattening Thimble. And that same day the\nMinimuls dragged into their kitchen a long straight branch of iron-wood,\nwhich with much labour they turned by charring into a prodigious spit.\nAnd Nod knew his hour was come, that there was no time to be lost.\n\nWhen he had once more been carried on his mat into his own chamber or\nsleeping-place, he drove out the drumming and fan-waving Minimuls,\nmaking signs to them that their noise and odour drove sleep away instead\nof charming it to him. He waited on and on, tossing on his mat,\nspringing up to listen, hearing now some forest beast tread hollowly\noverhead, and now a distant cry as if of fear or anguish. But at last,\nwhen all was still, he very cautiously fumbled and fumbled, gnawed and\ngnawed with his sharp little dog-teeth, until in the dim light of his\nworm-lantern peeped out the strange pale glowing milk-white Wonderstone,\ncarved all over with labyrinthine beast and bird and unintelligible\ncharacters. It lay there marvellously beautiful, as if in itself it were\nall Munza-mulgar, its swamps and forests and mountains lying tinied in\nthe pale brown palm of his hand, and as full of changing light as the\nbellies of dead fishes in the dark. He got up softly, clutching the\nstone tightly in his hand. He listened. He stole down his sandy gallery,\nand stood, small and hairy, in his sheep-skin, peering out into the\ngreat evil-smelling kitchen. Then he spat with his spittle on the stone,\nand began to rub softly, softly, three times round with his left thumb\nS[=a]maweeza, dancing lightly, and slowly the while, with eyes tight\nshut and ears twitching.\n\nAnd it seemed of a sudden as if all his care and trouble had been swept\naway. A voice small and clear called softly within him: \"Follow,\nUmmanodda, follow! Have now no fear, Prince of Tishnar, Nizza-neela; but\nfollow, only follow!\"\n\nHe opened his eyes, and there, hovering in the air, he saw as it were a\nlittle flame, crystal clear below, but mounting to the colour of rose,\nand shaped like a little pear. As soon as he looked at it it began\nsoftly to stir and float away from him across the glowery kitchen. And\nagain the mysterious voice he had heard called softly: \"Follow, Prince\nof Tishnar, follow!\" With shining eyes he hobbled warily after the\nlittle flame that, burning tranquil in the air, about a span above his\nhead, was floating quietly on.\n\nIt led him past the gaunt black spit and the dying fire. It wafted\nacross the great kitchen to the fifth of the gloomy arches, and\nstealthily as a shadow Nod stole after it. Under this arch and up the\nshelving gallery gently slid the guiding flame. And now Nod saw again\nthe furry Earth-mulgars, lying on their stomachs in their sandy beds,\nwhimpering and snuffling in their sleep. On glided the flame; after it\ncrept Nod, scarcely daring to breathe. \"Softly, now softly,\" he kept\nmuttering to himself. And now this gallery began to slope downward, and\nhe heard water dripping. A thin moss was growing on the stony walls. It\nfelt colder as he descended. But Nod kept his eyes fixed on the clear,\nunswerving flame. And in the silence he heard a muffled groan, and a\nharsh voice muttered drowsily, \"Oo mutchee, nanga,\" and he knew Thumb\nmust be near.\n\nThe strange voice whispered: \"Hasten, Ummanodda Nizza-neela; full moon\nis rising!\" Then Nod whimpering in his fear a little, like a cat, edged\non once more through a gallery where was laid up on sandy shelves a\ngreat store of nuts and pods and skins and spits and sharp-edged flints.\nAnd at last he came to where, in a filthy hollow, cold and lightless,\nand oozing with dark-glistening water-drops, his brothers Thimble and\nThumb were sleeping. They were tied hand and foot with Samarak to the\nthick root of a B[=o][=o]bab-tree, even their eyes bound up with sticky\nleaves. Nod hobbled over and knelt down beside Thumb, and put his mouth\nclose to his ear. \"Thumb, Thumb,\" says he, \"it is Nod! Wake,\nMulla-mulgar; it is Nod who calls!\" And he shook him by the shoulder.\nThumb stirred in his sleep and opened his mouth, so that Nod could see\nthe hovering flame glistening on his teeth. \"Oohmah, oohmah,\" he\ngrunted, \"na nasmi mutta kara theartchen!\" Which means in Mulgar-royal:\n\"Sorry, oh sorry, don't whip me, mother dear!\" And Nod knew he was\ndreaming of long ago.\n\nHe shook him again, and Thumb, with a kind of groan, rolled over,\ntrembling, and seemed to listen. \"Thumb, Thumb,\" Nod cried, \"it's only\nme; it's only Nod with the Wonderstone!\" And while Nod was stripping off\nthe leaves and bandages which covered Thumb's eyes he told him\neverything. \"And don't cry out, Thumb, if Tishnar's flame burns your\nshins. They've tied your legs in knots so tight with this tough Samarak,\nmy fingers can't undo them.\" So Thumb stretched out his legs, and\nclenched his hands, while the flame stooped and came down, and burned\nthrough the Samarak. He rubbed his poor singed shins where the flame had\nscorched them. But now he stood up. Soon his arms were unbound, and\nThimble, too, was roused and unloosed, and they were all three ready to\ntread softly out.\n\n\"Lead on, my wondrous fruit of magic!\" said Nod.\n\nThe light curtsied, as it were, in the air, and glided up through the\ndoorway; and the three Mulla-mulgars crept out after it, Thumb and\nThimble on their fours, being too stiff to walk upright.\n\n\"Hasten, hasten, Mulla-mulgars!\" said Nod softly. \"The full moon is\nshining; night is come. The pot is ready for the feast.\"\n\nSo one by one, with Nod's clear flame for guide, they trod noiselessly\nup the sandy earth-run. It led them without faltering past the huddled\nsleepers again; past, too, where the she-Minimuls lay cuddling their\ntiny ones, and up into the big empty kitchen. Under another arch they\ncrept after it, along another gallery of rough steps, hollowed out of\nthe sandy rock, beneath great tortuous roots, through such a maze as\nwould have baffled a weasel.\n\nAnd suddenly Thumb stopped and snuffed and snuffed again. \"Immamoosa,\nImmamoosa!\" he grunted.\n\nAlmond and evening-blooming Immamoosa it was, indeed, which they could\nsmell, shedding its fragrance abroad at nightfall. And in a little while\nout at last into the starry darkness they came, the great forest-trees\nstanding black and still around them, their huge boughs cloaked with\nsnow.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nIt was bitterly cold, and as the three travellers stood there, ragged\nand sore and hungry, they thought they would never weary of gazing at\nthe starry sky and sniffing the keen night air between the trees. But\nwhich way should they go? No path ran here, for the Earth-mulgars never\nlet any path grow clear around their mounds. Thumb climbed a little way\nup a Gelica-tree that stood over them, and soon espied low down in the\nsky the Bear's bright Seven, which circle about the dim Pole Star. So he\nquickly slid down again to tell his brothers. It so happened, however,\nthat in this tree grows a small, round, gingerish nut that takes two\nwhole years to ripen, and hangs in thick clusters amid the branches.\nThey have a taste like cinnamon, and with these the Earth-mulgars\nflavour their meat. And as Thumb slid heavily down, being stiff and sore\nnow, and very heavy, he shook one of these same clusters, and down it\ncame rattling about Nod's head. They have but thin shells, these nuts,\nand are not heavy, but they tumbled so suddenly, and from such a height,\nthat Nod fell flat, his hands thrown out along the snow. He clambered\nup, rubbing his head, and in the quietness, while they listened, they\nheard as it were a distant and continuous throbbing beneath them.\n\nThimble crouched down, with head askew. \"The Minimuls, the Z[=o][=o]ts!\"\nhe grunted.\n\nBut even at the same moment Nod had cried out too. \"Thumb, Thumb, O\nMulla-mulgar, the Wonderstone! the Wonderstone! the snow, the snow!\" No\npale and tapering light hovered clearly beaming now beneath these cold\nand starlit branches. The Mounds of the Minimuls were awake and astir.\nSoon the furious little Flesh-eaters would come pouring up in their\nhundreds, and to-morrow, their magic gone, all three brothers would be\nquickly frizzling, with these same Gelica-nuts for seasoning, on the\nspit.\n\nNod flung himself down; down, too, went Thumb and Thimble in the\nice-bespangled snow. At last they found the stone, shining like a pale\nmoon amid the twinkling starriness of the frost. But it was only just in\ntime. Even now they could hear the far-away crying and clamour, and the\nsurly Z[=o][=o]t-beating of the Earth-mulgars drawing nearer and nearer.\n\nWithout pausing an instant, Nod cast the stone into his mouth for\nsafety, and away went the three travellers, bundle and cudgel, rags and\nsheep's-coat, helter-skelter, between the silvery breaks of the trees,\nscampering faster than any Mulgar, Mulla, or Munza had ever run before.\nThe snow was crisp and hard; their worn and hardened feet made but the\nfaintest flip-flap in the hush. And scarcely had they run their first\nshort wind out, when lo and behold! there, in a leafy bower of snow in\ntheir path, three short-maned snorting little Horses of Tishnar, or\nZevveras, stood, rearing and chafing, and yet it seemed tethered\ninvisibly to that same frosty stable by a bridle from which they could\nnot break away.\n\nThey whinnied in concert to see these scampering Mulgars come panting\nover the snow. And Nod remembered instantly the longed-for gongs and\nstripes of his childhood, and he called like a parakeet: \"Tishnar, O\nTishnar!\" He could say no more. The Wonderstone that had lain couched on\nhis tongue, as he opened his mouth, slid softly back, paused for his\ncry, and the next instant had glided down his throat. But by this time\nThumb had straddled the biggest of the little plunging beasts. And, like\narrows from the Gunga's bow, each with his hands clasped tight about his\nZevvera's neck, away went Thumb, away went Thimble, away went Nod, the\nnight wind whistling in their ears, their rags a-flutter, the clear\nstripes of the Zevveras winking in the rising moon.\n\nBut the Little Horse of Tishnar which carried Nod upon his back was by\nmuch the youngest and smallest of the three. And soon, partly because of\nhis youth, and partly because he had started last, he began to fall\nfarther and farther behind. And being by nature a wild and untamable\nbeast, his spirit flamed up to see his brothers out-stripping him so\nfast. He flung up his head with a shrill and piercing whinny, and\nplunged foaming on. The trees winked by. Now up they went, now down,\ninto deep and darkling glades, now cantering softly over open and\nmoon-swamped snow. If only he could fling the clumsy, clinging Mulgar\noff his back he would soon catch up his comrades, who were fast\ndisappearing between the trees. He jumped, he reared, he kicked, he\nplunged, he wriggled, he whinnied. Now he sped like the wind, then on a\nsudden stopped dead, with all four quivering legs planted firmly in the\nsnow. But still Nod, although at every twist and turn he slipped up and\ndown the sleek and slippery shoulders, managed to cling fast with arms\nand legs.\n\nThen the cunning beast chose all the lowest and brushiest trees to run\nunder, whose twigs and thorns, like thick besoms, lashed and scratched\nand scraped his rider. But Nod wriggled his head under his sheep's-coat,\nand still held on. At last, maddened with shame and rage, the Zevvera\nflung back his beautiful foam-flecked face, and with his teeth snapped\nat Nod's shoulder. The Mulgar's wound was not quite healed. The gleaming\nteeth just scraped his sore. Nod started back, with unclasped hands, and\nin an instant, head over heels he shot, plump into the snow, and before\nhe could turn to scramble up, with a triumphing squeal of delight, the\nlittle Zevvera had vanished into the deep shadows of the moon-chequered\nforest.\n\n    [Illustration: HE JUMPED, HE REARED, HE KICKED, HE PLUNGED, HE\n    WRIGGLED, HE WHINNIED.]\n\nAt last Nod managed to get to his feet again. He brushed the snow out of\nhis eyes, and spat it out of his mouth. The Zevvera's hoof-prints were\nplain in the snow. He would follow them, he thought, till he could\nfollow no longer. His brothers had forsaken him. His Wonderstone was\ngone. He felt it even now burning like a tiny fire beneath his\nbreast-bone. He limped slowly on. But at every step he stumbled. His\nshoulder throbbed. He could scarcely see, and in a little while down he\nfell again. He lay still now, rolled up in his jacket, wishing only to\ndie and be at peace. Soon, he thought, the prowling Minimuls would find\nhim, stiff and frozen. They would wrap him up in leaves, and carry him\nhome between them on a pole to their mounds, and pick his small bones\nfor the morrow's supper. Everything he had done was foolish--the fire,\nthe wild pig, the Ephelantoes. He could not even ride the smallest of\nthe Little Horses of Tishnar. The languid warmth of his snow-bed began\nto lull his senses. The moon streamed through the trees, silvering the\nbranches with her splendour. And in the beautiful glamour of the\nmoonbeams it seemed to Nod the air was aflock with tiny wings. His heavy\neyelids drooped. He was falling softly--falling, falling--when suddenly,\nclose to his ear, a harsh and angry voice broke out.\n\n\"Hey, Mulgar! hey, Slugabones! how come you here? What are you doing\nhere?\"\n\nHe opened his eyes drowsily, and saw an old grey Quatta hare staring\ndrearily into his face with large whitening eyes.\n\n\"Sleep,\" he said, softly blinking into her face.\n\n\"Sleep!\" snarled the old hare. \"You idle Mulgars spend all your days\neating and sleeping!\"\n\nNod shut his eyes again. \"Do not begrudge me this, old hare,\" he said;\n\"'tis N[=o][=o]manossi's.\"\n\n\"Where did you steal that sheep's-coat, Mulgar? And how came you and the\nugly ones to be riding under my Dragon-tree on the Little Horses of\nTishnar?\"\n\n\"Why,\" replied Nod, smiling faintly, \"I stole my sheep's-coat from my\nmother, who gave it me; and as for 'riding on the Little Horses'--here\nI am!\"\n\n\"Where have you come from? Where are you going to?\" asked the old hare,\nstaring.\n\n\"I've come from the Flesh-mounds of the Minimuls, and I think I'm going\nto die,\" said Nod--\"that is, if this old Quatta will let me.\"\n\nThe old hare stiffened her long grey ears, and stamped her foot in the\nsnow. \"You mustn't die here,\" she said. \"No Mulgar has ever died here.\nThis forest belongs to me.\"\n\nIn spite of all his aches and pains, Nod grinned. \"Then soon you will\nhave Nod's little bones to fence it in with,\" he said.\n\nThe old hare eyed him angrily. \"If you weren't dying, impudent Mulgar,\nI'd teach you better manners.\"\n\nNod wriggled closer into his jacket. \"Trouble not, Queen of Munza,\" he\nsaid softly. \"I shouldn't have time to use them now.\" He shut his eyes\nagain, and all his pain seemed to be floating away in sleep.\n\nThe old hare sat up in the snow and listened. \"What's amiss in\nMunza-mulgar?\" she muttered to herself. \"First these galloping Horses of\nTishnar, one, two, three; now the angry Z[=o][=o]ts of the Minimuls, and\nall coming nearer?\" But Nod was far away in sleep now, and numb with\ncold.\n\nShe tapped his little shrunken cheek with her foot. \"Even in your sleep,\nMulgar, you mustn't dream,\" she said. \"None may dream in my forest.\" But\nNod made no answer even to that. She sat stiff up again, twitching her\nlean, long, hairy ears, now this way, now that way. \"Foh,\nEarth-mulgars!\" she said to herself. She stamped in the snow, and\nstamped again. And in a minute another old Quatta came louping between\nthe trees, and sat down beside her.\n\n\"Here's an old sheep's-jacket I've found,\" said the old Queen Quatta,\n\"with a little Mulgar inside it. Let us carry it home, Sister, or the\nMinimuls will steal him for their feast.\"\n\nThe other old Quatta raised her lip over her long curved teeth. \"Pull\nout the Mulgar first,\" she said.\n\nBut Mishcha said: \"No, it is a strange Mulgar, a Mulla-mulgar, a\nNizza-neela, and he smells of magic. Take his legs, Sister, and I will\ncarry his head. There's no time to be lost.\" So these two old Quatta\nhares wrapped Nod round tight in his sheep-skin coat, and carried him\noff between them to their form or house in an enormous hollow\nDragon-tree unimaginably old, and very snug and warm inside, with\ncotton-leaf, feathers, and dry tree-moss. There they laid him down, and\npillowed him round. And Mishcha hopped out again to watch and wait for\nthe Minimuls.\n\nSheer overhead the pygmy moon stood, when with drums beating and waving\ncudgels, in their silvery girdles, leopard-skin hats, and grass shoes,\nthirty or forty of the fury Minimuls appeared, hobbling bandily along,\nfollowing the hoof-prints of the galloping Zevveras in the snow. But\nlittle clouds in passing had scattered their snow, and the track had\nbegun to grow faint. The old hare watched these Earth-mulgars draw near\nwithout stirring. Like all the other creatures of Munza-mulgar, she\nhated these groping, gluttonous, cannibal gnomes. When they reached the\nplace where Nod had fallen, the Minimuls stood still and peered and\npointed. In a little while they came scuttling on again, and there sat\nold Mishcha under a great thorn-bush, gaunt in the snow.\n\nThey stood round her, waving their darts, and squeaking questions. She\nwatched them without stirring. Their round eyes glittered beneath their\nspotted leopard-skin hats as they stood in their shimmering grasses in\nthe snow.\n\n\"When so many squall together,\" she said at last, \"I cannot hear one.\nWhat's your trouble this bright night?\"\n\nThen one among them, with a girdle of Mulla-bruk's teeth, bade the rest\nbe silent.\n\n\"See here, old hare,\" he said; \"have any filthy Mulgars passed this way,\none tall and bony, one fat and hairy, and one little and cunning?\"\n\nMishcha stared. \"One and one's two, and one's three,\" she said slowly.\n\"Yes, truly--three.\"\n\n\"Three, three!\" they cried all together--\"thieves, thieves!\"\n\nMishcha's face wrinkled. \"All Mulgars are thieves,\" she said; \"some even\neat flesh. Ugh!\"\n\nAt this the Minimul-mulgars grew angry, their glassy eyes brightened.\nThey raised their snouts in the air and waved their darts. But the old\nhare sat calmly under her roof of poisonous thorns.\n\n\"Answer us, answer us,\" they squeaked, \"you dumb old Quatta!\"\n\n\"H'm, h'm!\" said Mishcha, staring solemnly. \"Mulgars? There are\nhundreds, and tens of hundreds of Mulgars in my forest, of more kinds\nand tribes than I have hairs on my scut. How should old Mishcha raise an\neyelid at only three? Olory mi, my third-gone grandmother used to tell\nme many a story of you thieving, gluttonous Mulgars, all alike, all\nalike. It's sad when one's old to remember, but it's sadder to forget.\"\n\nClouds had stolen again over the moon, and snow was falling fast. Let\nthese evil-smelling Minimuls chatter but a little longer, she thought;\nnot a hoof-print would be left.\n\n\"Listen, old hare,\" said the chief of the Minimuls. \"Have you seen three\nMulgars pass this way, two in red jackets, and one, a Nizza-neela, in a\nsheep's coat, and all galloping, galloping, on three Little Horses of\nTishnar?\"\n\nMishcha gazed at him stonily, with hatred in her eyes. She was grey with\nage, and now a little peaked cap of snow crowned her head, so still she\nhad sat beneath the drifting flakes. \"I am old--oh yes, old, and old\nagain,\" she said. \"I have ruled in Munza-mulgar one hundred, two\nhundred, five hundred years, but I never yet saw a Mulgar riding on a\nLittle Horse of Tishnar. Tell me, Wise One, which way did they\nsit--_with_ the stripes, or cross-cross?\"\n\n\"Answer us, grandam,\" squealed one of the Minimuls in a fury, \"or I'll\nstick a poisoned dart down your throat.\"\n\nMishcha smiled. \"Better a Minimul's dart than no supper at all,\" she\nsaid. \"Swallow thy tongue, thou Mulgar!\" she said; and suddenly her lips\ncurled upward, her two long front teeth gleamed, her hair bristled.\n\"Hobble off home, you thieving, flesh-eating, sun-hating earth-worms!\nHobble off home before ears and nose and thumbs and toes are bitten and\nfrozen in Tishnar's snows! Away with you, moon-maggots, grubbers of\nsand!\" She stamped with her foot, her old eyes greenly burning under\nthe bush.\n\nThe Minimuls began angrily chattering again. At last the first who had\nspoken turned mousily and said: \"To-day you go unharmed, old Quatta, but\nto-morrow we will come with fire and burn your Dragon-tree about your\nears.\"\n\nMishcha stirred not one hair. \"It's sad to burn, but it's sadder still\nto freeze.\" Her round eyes glared beneath her snow-cap. \"A long march\nhome to you, Minnikin-mulgar! A long march home! And if I should smell\nout the Sheep's-jacket on his Little Horse of Tishnar, I will tell him\nwhere to find you--burnt, bitten, brittle, baked hard in frozen snow!\"\nShe turned and began to hop off slowly between the shadow-casting trees.\n\nAt this, one of the Minimuls in his fury lifted a dart and flung it at\nthe old hare. It stuck, quivering, in her shoulder. She turned slowly,\nand stared at him through the falling flakes; then, drawing the dart out\nwith one of her forefeet, she spat on the point, and laid it softly down\nin the snow. And so wildly she gazed at them out of her aged and\nwhitening eyes that the Minimuls fell into a sudden terror of the old\nwitch-hare, and without another word turned back in silence and scuffled\noff in the thick falling snow by the way they had come.\n\nOld Mishcha watched them till they were hidden from sight by the trees\nand the clouding snow-flakes; then, muttering a little to herself,\nnodding her thin long ears, she, too, turned and hopped off quickly to\nher house in the old Dragon-tree.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nNod still lay huddled up in his jacket, his small, hairy face all drawn\nand grey, his eyes tight-shut and sorrowful beneath their thick black\nlashes. Mishcha squatted over him, and put her head down close to his\nlittle body. \"He breathes no more, sister, than a moth or an\nImmamoosa-bud.\"\n\n\"Let us drag him out of his sheep-skin, and bury him in the snow,\" said\nM\u00f4ha.\n\nBut Mishcha listened more closely still. \"I hear his heart beating; I\nhear his drowsy blood just come and go. But what is it that, sweeter\nthan a panther's breath, smells so of Magic? We must not harm the little\nMulgar, sister; he is cunning. A Meermut of Magic would soon return to\nplague us.\" So she wrapped him up still closer in dry leaves and\ntree-moss, and opened his mouth to sprinkle a pinch of snow between his\nlips.\n\nAll that night and the next day Nod slept without stirring. But the\nevening after that, when the snow had ceased again, he opened his eyes\nand called \"Wallah, wallah!\" Mishcha hopped off and brought him snow in\na plantain-leaf, and wrapped him up still warmer. But the little dry\nherbs and powdered root she put on his tongue he choked at, and could\nnot swallow. His shoulder burned, he tossed to and fro with eyes\nblazing. Now he would start up and shout, \"Thumb, Thumb!\" then presently\nhis face would all pucker up with fear, and he would scream, \"The fire,\nthe fire!\" and then soon after he would be whispering, \"Muzza, muzza,\nmutta; kara mutta, mutta!\" just as if he were at home again in the\nlittle dried-up Portingal's hut.\n\nMishcha did all she could to soothe and quieten him. And at last she\nmanaged to make him swallow a little hard bright blue seed called\nCandar, which drives away fever and quiets dreams. But old M\u00f4ha eyed him\nangrily, and wanted to throw him out into the forest to die. \"Who'd\nsleep in a jacket that a gibbering Mulgar has died in?\" she said.\n\nWhen the next night was nearly gone, but before it was yet day, Nod\nawoke, cool and clear, and stared into the musty darkness of the\nDragon-tree, wondering in vain where he was. Only one small spark of\nlight could he see--the red star Antares, that was now burning through a\nlittle rift in the bark. He thought he heard a faint rustling of dry\nleaves.\n\n\"Hey, there!\" he called out. \"Where is Nod?\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue, thieving Mulgar,\" cried an angry voice, \"and let\nhonest folk sleep in peace.\"\n\n\"If I could see,\" Nod answered weakly, \"you wouldn't sleep much\nto-night, honest or no.\"\n\n\"You can't see,\" answered the voice softly, \"because, my man of bones,\nyou are dead and buried under the snow.\"\n\nNod grew cold. He pinched his legs; he opened and shut his mouth, and\ntook long, deep breaths; then he laughed. \"It's none so bad, then, being\ndead, Voice-of-Kindness,\" he said cheerfully, \"if it weren't for this\nsore shoulder of mine.\"\n\nBut to this the morose voice made no answer. Not yet, even, could Nod\nremember all that had happened. \"Hey, there!\" he called out again\npresently, \"who buried me, then?\"\n\n\"Buried you? Why, Mishcha and M\u00f4ha, the old witch-hares, who found you\nsnuffling in the snow in your stolen sheep's-coat--Mishcha and M\u00f4ha, who\nwouldn't touch monkey-skin, not for a grove of green Candar-trees.\"\n\n\"I remember M\u00f4ha,\" said Nod meekly, \"a gentle and sleek, a very, very\nhandsome old Quatta. And is she dead, too?\"\n\nBut again the sour voice made no reply.\n\n\"Once,\" said Nod, in a little while, \"I had two brave brothers. I wonder\nwhere those Mulla-mulgars are now?\"\n\n\"He wonders,\" said the voice slowly--\"he _wonders_! Frizzling,\nfrizzling, frizzling, my pretty Talk-by-Night, with seven smoking\nGelica-nuts for company on the spit.\"\n\nAt this Nod fell silent. He lay quaking in his warm, rustling bed, with\npuckered forehead and restless eyes, wondering if the voice had told\nhim the truth, while daybreak stole abroad in the forest.\n\nWhen dusk began to stir within the Dragon-tree, Mishcha awoke and came\nand looked at him.\n\nShe hearkened at his ribs and mouth, and there seemed, Nod thought, a\nlittle kindness in her ways. So he put out his shrunken hand, and said:\n\"Tell me truly, witch-hare. A voice in the night was merry with me, and\ntold me for pleasure that my brothers Thumb and Thimble were frizzling\non the cannibal Minimuls' spits. That is not true?\"\n\n\"'One long and lean,'\" said Mishcha, \"'one fat and very heavy, and one\nsly and tiny, a Nizza-neela.' Here's the Nizza-neela Mulla-mulgar; I\nknow nothing of the others.\"\n\n\"Ah, then,\" said Nod, starting up out of his bed, \"I must be off to look\nfor them. Their Little Horses ran faster than mine. And mine, he was a\ncoward, and nibbled my sore shoulder to make me loose hold. But he could\nnot buck or scrape me off, witch-hare, tried he never so hard. I must be\noff at once to look for my brothers. If they are dead, then I die too.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the old hare, \"it's sad to die, but it's sadder to\nlive alone. But tell me first one thing,\" she said. \"Where have these\nstrange Mulgars come from in their rags and bravery?\"\n\n\"Oh\u00e9,\" said Nod, and told her who they were.\n\n\"And tell me just one thing more,\" she said, when he had finished.\n\"Where, little Mulgar, is all this Magic I can smell?\"\n\nAnd at that question Nod thought he could never keep from laughing. But\nhe looked very solemn, and said: \"There are three things, old hare, I\nalways carry about with me--one is my sheep's-jacket, one is hunger, and\nthe other is Magic; and the Magic just now is where my hunger is.\"\n\nThe old hare eyed him narrowly. \"Well,\" she said, \"wherever it is, if it\nhadn't been for the Magic, little Mulgar, the Jaccatrays would have been\nquarrelling over your bones. But there! remember old Mishcha sometimes\nin your travels, who hated every Mulgar except just one little one!\" She\nbade him be very quiet, for her sister, after the night's talk, still\nlay fast asleep, her eyes wide open, in the gloom.\n\nAnd she put Ukka-nuts, and dried berries and fruits of many kinds, and\nseven pepper-pods into his pockets, and buttoned the flaps. And she gave\nhim also some powdered physic-nuts, three bright-blue Candar-seeds, and\na little bunch of faded saffron-flower for a protection against the\nteeth of the dreaded Coccadrillo. She tied up his shoulder with soft\nclean moss, and fetched him a stout stick for cudgel out of the forest.\nAnd then she hobbled out with him to see him on his way. Dawn lay rosy\nand still upon the snow-laden branches.\n\n\"Where burns the Sulemn[=a]gar, old hare?\" said Nod, pretending utter\nbravery. And the wise old Quatta hare pointed out to him where still the\nSulemn[=a]gar gleamed faint and silver above the glistening trees.\n\nSo Nod thanked her, went forward a few paces, and stepped back to thank\nher again; then set out truly and for good.\n\nHe walked very cautiously, spying about him as he went. The red sun\nglinted on his cudgel. Once he saw a last night's leopard's track in the\nsnow. So he roved his eyes aloft as well as to left and right of him,\nlest she should be lying in wait, crouched in the branches. A troop of\nSkeetoes pelted him with Ukka-nuts. But these, as fast as they threw\nthem down, he gathered up and put into his bulging pockets, and waved\nhis cap at them for thanks. They gibbered and mocked at him, and flung\nmore nuts. \"So long as it isn't stones, my long-tailed friends,\" he said\nto himself, \"I will not throw back.\"\n\nAfter a while he came to where Cullum and Samarak grew so dense amid the\ntree-trunks that he could scarcely walk upright. But he determined, as\nhis mother had bidden him, to keep from stooping on to his fours as long\nas ever he could. Tumbling Numnuddies startled him, calling in the air.\nAnd once a clouded vulture with wings at least six cudgels wide dropped\nlike a stone upon a leafless B[=o][=o]bab-branch, and watched him\ngloatingly go limping by.\n\nHe sat down in his loneliness and rested, and nibbled one of Mishcha's\nnuts. But try as he might, he could not swallow much. When once more he\nset out, for a long way some skulking beast which he could not plainly\nsee stalked through the nodding grasses a few paces distant from him,\nbut side by side. He flourished his cudgel, and sang softly the\nMulla-mulgars' Journey-Song which Seelem had taught him long ago:\n\n    \"That one\n     Alone\n     Who's dared, and gone\n     To seek the Magic Wonderstone,\n     No fear,\n     Or care,\n     Or black despair,\n     Shall heed until his journey's done.\n\n    \"Who knows\n     Where blows\n     The Mulgars' rose,\n     In valleys 'neath unmelting snows--\n     All secrets\n     He\n     Shall pierce and see,\n     And walk unharmed where'er he goes.\"\n\nWhether it was the Wonderstone under his breast-bone, on the sight of\nhis cudgel, or a distaste for his shrill voice and skinniness, Nod could\nnot tell, but in a little while, when he stopped a moment to peer\nbetween the thick streamers of Samarak, the secret beast was gone. Day\ndrew on. He saw no tracks in the snow, except of wild pig and\nlong-snouted Brackanolls. The only sound he heard was the falling of\nfrosted clots of snow from the branches of the trees and the sad,\ncontinuous \"Oo-ee, oo-ee, oo-ee!\" of the little rust-coloured Bittock\namid the sunlit snow. He did not dare now to rest, though his feet grew\nmore painful at every step, and his poisoned shoulder itched and ached.\n\nHe stumbled on, scarcely heeding where his footsteps were leading him.\nMulgar flies, speckled and humped, roused by the cloudless sun, buzzed\nround his eyes and bit and stung him. And suddenly his heart stood still\nat sight of seven amber and spotted beasts standing amid the grasses,\ncasting a league-long shadow with their necks--such beasts as he had\nnever seen before. But they were busy feeding, their heads and tiny\nhorns and lustrous eyes half hidden in the foliage of the branches. Nod\nstared in fear and wonder, and passed their arbour very softly by.\n\nNight began to fall, and the long-beaked bats to flit in their leathery\nhoods, seeking small birds and beasts to quench their thirst. It seemed\nnow to Nod, his brave heart fallen, that he was utterly forsaken.\nDarkness had always sent him scuttling home to the Portingal's hut when\nhe was little. How often his mother had told him that N[=o][=o]manossi\nwith his luring harp-strings roamed these farther forests, and strange\nbeasts, too, that never show their faces to the sun! Worse still, as he\nlifted his poor wrinkled forehead to the tree-tops to catch the last\nbeams of day, he felt a dreadful presence around him. Leopard it was\nnot, nor Gunga, nor Minimul. He stood still, his left hand resting on\nits knuckles in the snow, his right clutching his cudgel, and leaning\nhis round ear sidelong, he listened and listened. He put down his\ncudgel, and stood upright, his hands clasped behind his neck, and\nlifting his flat nose, sniffed and sniffed again the scarcely-stirring\nair. There was a smell, faint and strange. He turned as if to rush away,\nto hide himself--anywhere away from this brooding, terrifying smell,\nwhen, as if it were a little voice speaking beneath his ribs, he heard\nthe words: \"Fear not, Ummanodda; press on, press on!\" He took up his\ncudgel with a groan, and limped quickly forward, and in an instant\nbefore he could start back, before even he could cry out, he heard a\nclick, his foot slipped, out of the leaves whipped something smooth and\nshining, and he was jerked into the air, caught, bound fast in a snare.\n\nHe writhed and kicked, he spat and hissed. But the more he struggled,\nthe tighter drew the cord round his neck. Everywhere, faint and\ntrembling, rose the strange and dreadful unknown smell. He hung quite\nstill. And as he dangled in pain, a night-wandering Bittock on a branch\nabove him called piteously: \"Oo-ee, oo-ee, oo-ee!\"\n\n\"Why do you mock me, my friend?\" groaned Nod.\n\n\"Oo-ee, oo-ee, oo-ee!\" wailed the Bittock, and hopping down slowly,\nperched herself before his face. Her black eye gleamed. She clapped her\ntiny wings above her head, and softly let them fold. \"Oo-ee, oo-ee,\noo-ee!\" she cried again.\n\nNod stared in a rage: \"Oo-ee, oo-ee!\" he mocked her feebly. \"Who's\ncaught me in this trap? Why do you come mocking me, swinging here to\ndie? Put out my eyes, Bird of Sorrow. Nod's tired of being Nod.\"\n\nThe little bird seemed to listen, with rusty poll poked forward. She\npuffed out her feathers, raised her pointed bill, and piercingly into\nthe shadows rang out her trembling voice again. \"Oo-ee, oo-ee, oo-ee!\"\nshe sang, spread her wings, and left Nod quite alone.\n\nHis thong twitched softly. He shut his eyes. And once again, borne on\nthe faint cold wind, that smell came sluggishly to his nostrils. His\nfears boiled up. His hair grew wet on his head. And suddenly he heard a\ndistant footfall. Nearer and nearer--not panther's, nor Gunga's, nor\nEphelanto's. And then some ancient voice whispered in his memory:\n\"Oomgar, Oomgar!\" Man!\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nThere was only the last of day in the forest. But Nod, dangling in\nterror, could clearly see the Oomgar peering at him from beneath the\nunstirring branches--his colourless skin, his long yellow hair, his\nmusket, his fixed, glittering eyes. And there came suddenly a voice out\nof the Oomgar, like none the little Mulgar had ever heard in his life\nbefore. Nod screamed and gnashed and kicked. But it was in vain. It only\nnoosed him tighter.\n\n\"So, so, then; softly, now, softly!\" said the strange clear voice. The\nOomgar caught up the slack end of the noose and wound it deftly around\nhim, binding him hand and foot together. Then he took a long steel knife\nfrom his breeches pocket, cut the cord round Nod's neck, and let him\ndrop heavily to the ground. \"_Poor_ little Pongo! poor leetle Pongo!\" he\nsaid craftily, and cautiously stooped to pick him up.\n\nNod could not see for rage and fear. He drew back his head, and with\nall his strength fixed his teeth in that white terrible thumb. The\nOomgar sucked in his breath with the pain, and, catching up the little\nMulgar's own cudgel that lay in the snow, rapped him angrily on the\nhead. After that Nod struggled no more. A thick piece of cloth was tied\nfast round his jaws. The Oomgar slipped the barrel of his musket through\nthe Cullum-rope, lifted the little Mulgar on to his back, and strode off\nwith him through the darkening forest.\n\nThey came out after a while from among the grasses, vines, and\nundergrowth. The Oomgar climbed heavily up a rocky slope, trudged on\nover an open and level space of snow, across an icy yet faintly stirring\nstream, and came at length to a low wooden house drifted deep in snow,\nin front of which a big fire was burning, showering up sparks into the\nstarry sky. Here the Oomgar stooped and tumbled Nod over his shoulder\ninto the snow at a little distance from the fire. He bent his head to\nthe flames, and examined his bitten thumb, rubbed the blood off with a\nhandful of snow, sucked the wound, bound it roughly with a strip of blue\ncloth, and tied the bandage in a knot with his teeth. This done, making\na strange noise with his lips like the hissing of sap from a green\nstick, he began plucking off the wing and tail feathers of a large grey\nbird. This he packed in leaves, and uncovering a little hole beneath the\nembers, raked it out, and pushed the carcass in to roast.\n\nHe squinnied narrowly over his shoulder a moment, then went into his hut\nand brought out a cooking-pot, which he filled with water from the\nstream, and put into it a few mouse-coloured roots called Kiddals, which\nin flavour resemble an artichoke, and are very wholesome, even when\ncold. He hung his cooking-pot over the fire on three sticks laid\ncrosswise. Then he sat down and cleaned his musket while his supper was\ncooking.\n\nAll this Nod watched without stirring, almost without winking, till at\nlast the Oomgar, with a grunt, put down his gun, and came near and stood\nover him, staring down with a crooked smile on his mouth, between his\nyellow hair and the short, ragged beard beneath. He held out his\nbandaged thumb. \"There, little master,\" he said coaxingly, \"have another\ntaste; though I warn ye,\" he added, wagging his head, \"it'll be your\nwerry last.\" Nod's restless hazel eyes glanced to and fro above the\nstifling cloth wound round his mouth. He felt sullen and ashamed. How\nhis brother Thimble would have scoffed to see him now, caught like a\nsucking-pig in a snare!\n\nThe Oomgar smiled again. \"Why, he's nowt but skin and bone, he is;\nshivering in his breeches and all. Lookee here, now, Master Pongo, or\nwhatsomedever name you goes by, here's one more chance for ye.\" He took\nout his knife and slit off the gag round Nod's mouth, and loosened the\ncord a little. Nod did not stir.\n\n\"And who's to wonder?\" said the Oomgar, watching him. He began warily\nscratching the little Mulgar's head above the parting. \"It was a cruel\nhard rap, my son--a cruel hard rap, I don't gainsay ye; but, then, you\nmust take Andy's word for it, they was cruel sharp teeth.\"\n\nNod saw him looking curiously at his sheep's-jacket, and, thinking he\nwould show this strange being that Mulla-mulgars, too, can understand,\nhe sidled his hand gently and heedfully into his pocket and fetched out\none of the Ukka-nuts that old Mishcha had given him.\n\nAt that the Oomgar burst out laughing. \"Brayvo!\" he shouted; \"that's\nmother-English, that is! Now we's beginning to unnerstand one another.\"\nHe poured a little hot water out of his cooking-pot into a platter and\nput it down in the snow. Nod sniffed it doubtfully. It smelt sweet and\nearthy of the root simmering in it. But he raised the platter of water\nslowly with his loosened hands, cooled it with blowing, and supped it up\ngreedily, for he was very thirsty.\n\nThe Oomgar watched him with an astonished countenance. \"Saints save us!\"\nhe muttered, \"he drinks like a Christian!\"\n\nNod wriggled his mouth, and imitated the sound as best he could.\n\"Krisshun, Krisshun,\" he grunted.\n\nThe stooping Oomgar stared across the fire at Nod in the shadow as a man\nstares towards a strange and formidable shape in the dark. \"Saints save\nus!\" he whispered again, crossing himself, and sat down on his log.\n\nHe scraped back the embers and stripped the burnt skin and frizzled\nfeathers off his roasted bird, stuck a wooden prong into a Kiddal, and,\nwith a mouthful of bird and a mouthful of Kiddal, set heartily to his\nsupper. When he had eaten his fill, he heaped up the fire with green\nwood, tied Nod to a thick stake of his hut, so that he could lie in\ncomfort of the fire and to windward of its smoke; then, with a tossed-up\nglance at the starry and cloudless vault of the sky, he went whistling\ninto the hut and noisily barred the door.\n\nSoftly crooning to himself in his sorrow and loneliness, Nod lay long\nawake. Of a sudden he would sit up, trembling, to glance as if from a\ndream about him, then in a little while would lie down quiet again. At\nlast, with hands over his face and feet curled up towards the fire, he\nfell fast asleep.\n\nWhen Nod woke the next morning the Oomgar was already abroad, and busy\nover his breakfast. The sun burned clear in the dark blue sky. Nod\nopened his eyes and watched the Oomgar without stirring. He stood in\nheight by more than a hand's breadth taller than the Gunga-mulgar. But\nhe was much leaner. The Gunga's horny knuckles had all but brushed the\nground when he stood, stooping and glowering, on legs crooked and\nshapeless as wood. The Oomgar's arms reached only midway to his knees;\nhe walked straight as a palm-tree, without stooping, and no black,\ncringing cunning nor bloodshot ferocity darkened his face. His hair\ndangled beaming in the sun about his clear skin. His hands were only\nfaintly haired. And he wore a kind of loose jacket or jerkin, made of\nthe inner bark of the Juzanda-tree (which is of finer texture than the\nMulgars' cloth), rough breeches of buffskin, and monstrous boots. But\nmost Nod watched flinchingly the Oomgar's light blue eyes, hard as ice,\nyet like nothing for strangeness Nod had ever seen in his life before,\nnor dreamed there was. But every time they wheeled beneath their lids\npiercingly towards him he closed his own, and feigned to be asleep.\n\nAt last, feeling thirsty, he wriggled up and crawled to the dish, which\nstill lay icy in the snow, and raised it with both hands as far as his\nmanacles would serve, and thrust it out empty towards the Oomgar.\n\nThe Oomgar made Nod a great smiling bow over the fire in answer, and\nfilled it with water. Then, breaking off a piece of his smoking flesh,\nhe flung it to the Mulgar in the snow. But Nod would not so much as\nstoop to smell it. He gravely shook his head, thrust in his fingers, and\ndrew an Ukka-nut out of his pocket. \"And who's to blame ye?\" said the\nOomgar cheerfully. \"It's just the tale of Jack Sprat, my son, over\nagain; only your little fancy's neether lean nor fat, but monkey-nuts!\"\nHe got up, and, screening his eyes from the sun, looked around him.\n\nThen Nod looked, too. He saw that the Oomgar had built his hut near the\nedge of a kind of shelving rock, which sloped down softly to a cliff or\ngully. A little half-frozen stream flowed gleaming under the sun between\nits snowy banks, to tumble wildly over the edge of the cliff in blazing\nand frozen spray. Beyond the cliff stretched the azure and towering\nforests of Munza, immeasurable, league on league, flashing beneath the\nwhole arch of the sky, capped and mantled and festooned with snow. Near\nby grew only thin grasses and bushes of thorn, except that at the\nsouthern edge of the steep rose up a little company or grove of\nUkka-nuts and Ollacondas. Toward these strode off the Oomgar, with a\nthick billet of wood in his hand. When he reached them, he stood\nunderneath, and flung up his billet into the tree, just as Nod himself\nhad often done, and soon fetched down two or three fine clusters of\nUkka-nuts. These he brought back with him, and held some out to the\nquiet little Mulgar.\n\n\"There, my son,\" he said, \"them's for pax, which means peace, you\nunnerstand. I'm not afeerd of you, nor you isn't afeerd of me. All's\nspliced and shipshape.\" So there they sat beneath the blazing sun, the\ndazzling snow all round them, the Oomgar munching his broiled flesh, and\nstaring over the distant forest, Nod busily cracking his Ukka-nuts, and\npeeling out the soft, milky, quincey kernel. Nod scarcely took his\nbewitched eyes from the Oomgar's face, and the longer he looked at him,\nthe less he feared him. All creatures else he had ever seen seemed dark\nand cloudy by comparison. The Oomgar's face was strange and fair, like\nthe shining of a flame.\n\n\"Now, see here, my son,\" said the Oomgar suddenly, when, after finishing\nhis breakfast, he had sat brooding for some time: \"I go there--_there_,\"\nhe repeated, pointing with his hand across the stream; \"and Monkey\nPongo, he stay here--_here_,\" he repeated, pointing to the hut. \"Now,\ns'posin' Andy Battle, which is _me_\"--he bent himself towards Nod and\ngrinned--\"s'posin' Andy Battle looses off that rope's end a little more,\nwill Master Pongo keep out of mischief, eh?\"\n\nNod tried hard to understand, and looked as wise as ever he could. \"Ulla\nMulgar majubba; zinglee Oomgar,\" he said.\n\nBattle burst out laughing. \"Ugga, nugga, jugga, jingles! That's\nit--that's the werry thing,\" he said.\n\nNod looked up softly without fear, and grinned.\n\n\"He knows, by gum!\" said Battle. \"There be more wits in that leetle\nhairy cranny than in a shipload of commodores.\" He got up and loosened\nthe rope round Nod's neck. \"It's only just this,\" he said. \"Andy Battle\nisn't turned cannibal yet--neither for white, black, nor monkey-meat. I\nwouldn't eat you, my son, not if they made me King of England\nto-morrow, which isn't likely to be, by the look of the weather, so\n_don't ee have no meddlin' with the fire_!\"\n\n\"Middlinooiddyvire,\" said Nod, mimicking him softly.\n\nAnd at that Battle burst into such a roar of laughter the hut shook. He\nfilled Nod's platter with water, and gave him the rest of the Ukka-nuts.\nHe went into the hut and fetched musket, powder, and bullets. He put a\nthick-peaked hat on his head, then, with his musket over his shoulder,\nhe nodded handsomely at the little blinking Mulgar, and off he went.\n\nNod watched him stride away. With a hop, skip, and a jump he crashed\nacross the frozen water, and soon disappeared down the steep path that\nled into the forest. When he was out of sight, Nod lay down in the\nshadow of the log-hut. He felt a strange comfort, as if there was\nnothing in all Munza-mulgar to be afraid of. His rage and sullenness\nwere gone. He would rest here awhile with this Oomgar, if he were as\nkind as he seemed to be, and try to understand what he said. Then, when\nhis feet were healed of their sores and blains, and his shoulder was\nquite whole again, he would set off once more after his brothers.\n\nAll the next day, and the day after that, Nod sat patient and still,\ntethered with a long cord round his neck to the Oomgar's hut. When\nBattle spoke to him he listened gravely. When he laughed and showed his\nteeth, Nod showed his cheerfully, too. And when Battle sat silent and\ncast down in thought, Nod pretended to be unspeakably busy over his\nnuts.\n\nAnd soon the sailor found himself beginning to look forward to seeing\nthe hairy face peering calmly out of the sheep's-jacket on his return\nfrom his hunting. On the third evening, when, after a long absence, he\ncame home, tired out and heavy-laden, with a little sharp-horned\nImpolanca-calf and a great frost-blackened bunch of Nanoes, he took off\nNod's halter altogether and set him free.\n\n\"There!\" said he; \"we're messmates now, Master Pongo. Andy Battle's had\na taste of slavery himself, and it isn't reasonable, my son. It frets in\nlike rusty iron, my son; and Andy's supped his fill of it. I takes to\nyour company wonnerful well, and if you takes to mine, then that's\nplain-sailing, says I. But if them apes and monkeys over yonder are more\nto your liking than a shipwrecked sailor, who's to blame ye? Every man\nto his own, says I; breeches to breeches, and bare to bare. The werry\nfirst thing is for me and you to unnerstand one another.\"\n\nNod listened gravely to all this talk, and caught the sailor's meaning,\nwhat with a word here, a nod, a wink, or a smile there, and the jerk of\na great thumb.\n\n\"But as for Andy Battle,\" went on the sailor, \"he never were much struck\nat a foreign lingo. So, says I, Andy shall learn Master Pongo his'n. And\nhere goes! That,\" said he, holding up a great piece of meat on his\nknife--\"that's _meat_.\"\n\n\"'Zmeat--ugh!\" said Nod, with a shudder.\n\n\"And this here's nuts,\" said Battle.\n\n\"'Znuts!\" repeated Nod, rubbing his stomach.\n\nBattle rapped on his log. \"Excellentissimo!\" he said. \"He's a scholard\nborn. Now, monkeys like you,\" he went on, looking into Nod's face, \"if\nI make no mistake, the blackamoors calls 'Pongoes.'\"\n\nNod shook his head.\n\n\"No? 'Njekkoes, then,\" said the sailor.\n\nNod shook his head again. \"Me Mulla-mulgar, Pongo--Jecco\"--he shook Ins\nhead vehemently--\"me Mulla-mulgar Ummanodda Nizza-neela.\"\n\nThe Oomgar laughed aloud. \"Axing your pardon, then, Master Noddle\nEbenezer, mine's Battle--Andrew, as which is Andy, Battle.\"\n\n\"Whizzizandy--Baffle,\" said Nod, with a jerk.\n\n\"Fam_ous_!\" said the sailor. \"Us was a downright dunce to you, my son.\nNow, then, hoise anchor, and pipe up! Andy Battle is an Englishman; hip,\nhooray! Andy Battle----\"\n\n\"'Andy Baffle----'\"\n\n\"'Is an----'\"\n\n\"'Izzn----'\"\n\n\"'Is an Englishman.'\"\n\n\"'Izziningulissmum,'\" said Nod very slowly.\n\n\"'Hip, hooray!'\" bawled Battle.\n\n\"'Ippooray!\" squealed Nod. And Battle rocked to and fro on his log with\nlaughter.\n\n\"That's downright rich, my son, that is! 'Izzuninglushum!' As sure as\never mariners was born to be drownded,\n\n    \"We'll sail away, o'er the deep blue say,\n    And to old England we'll make our way.\"\n\nA piece of silver for a paw-shake, and two for a good-e'en. Us 'll make\na fortune, you and me, and go and live in a snug little cottage with\nsix palm-trees and a blackamoor down Ippleby way. Andrew Battle, knight\nand squire, and Jack Sprat, Prince of Pongo-land. Ay, and the King shall\ncome to sup wi' us, comfortable-like, 'twixt you and me, and drink\nhisself thirsty out of a golden mug.\"\n\nAnd so it went on. Every day Battle taught Nod new words. And soon he\ncould say a few simple things in his Mulgar-English, and begin to make\nhimself understood. Battle taught him also to cook his meat for him,\nthough Nod would never taste of it himself. And Nod, too, out of Sudd\nand Mambel-berries and Nanoes and whatever other dried and frosted\nfruits Battle brought home, made monkey-bread and a kind of porridge,\nwhich Battle at first tasted with caution, but at last came to eat with\nrelish.\n\nThe sailor stitched his friend up a jacket of Juzanda cloth, with\nBamba-shells for buttons, and breeches of buff-skin. These Nod dyed dark\nblue in patches, for his own pleasure, with leaves, as Battle directed\nhim. Battle made him also a pair of shoes of rhinoceros-skin, nearly\nthree inches thick, on which Nod would go sliding and tumbling on the\nice, and a cap of needlework and peacocks' feathers, just as in his\ndream.\n\nThere were many things in Battle's hut gathered together for traffic and\npleasure in his journey: a great necklace of Gunga's or Pongo's teeth; a\nbagful of Cassary beads, which change colour with the hour, a bolt-eyed\nJoojoo head, a bird-billed throwing-knife, also beads of Estridges'\neggs, as large as a small melon. There was also, what Battle cherished\nvery carefully, a little fat book of 566 pages and nine woodcuts that\nhis mother had given him before setting out on his hapless voyagings,\nwith a tongue or clasp of brass to keep it together. Moreover, Battle\ngave Nod a piece of looking-glass, the like of which he had never seen\nbefore. And the little Mulgar would often sit sorrowfully talking to his\nimage in the glass, and bid the face that there answered his own be off\nand find his brothers. And Nod, in return, gave Battle for a keepsake\nthe little Portingal's left-thumb knuckle-bone and half the faded\nCoccadrillo saffron which old Mishcha had given to him.\n\nOf an evening these castaways had music for their company--a bell of\ncopper that rang marvellously clear across the frosty air, and would\nbring multitudes of night-birds hovering and crying over the hut in\nperplexity at the sweet and hollow sound. And besides the bell, Battle\nhad a cittern, or lute, made of a gourd, with a Jugga-wood neck like a\nfiddle. Stretched and pegged this was, with twangling strings made of a\nclimbing root that grows in the denser forests, and bears a flower\nlovelier than any to be seen on earth beside. With Battle thrumming on\nthis old crowd or lute, Nod danced many a staggering hornpipe and\nMulgar-jig. Moreover, Battle had taught himself to pick out a melody or\ntwo. So, then, they would dance and sing songs together--\"Never, tir'd\nSailour,\" \"The Three Cherrie-trees,\" \"Who's seene my Deere with Cheekes\nso redde?\" and many another.\n\nBattle's voice was loud and great; Nod's was very changeable. For the\nupper notes of his singing were shrill and trembling, and so the best\npart of his songs would go; but when they dipped towards the bass, then\nhis notes burst out so sudden and powerful, it might be supposed four\nmen's voices had taken up the melody where a boy's had ceased. It\npleased Battle mightily, this night-music--music of all the kinds they\nknew, white man's, Jaqqua-music, Nugga-music, and Mulla-mulgars'. Nod,\ntoo, often droned to the sailor, as time went on, the evening song to\nTishnar that his father had taught him, until at last the sailor himself\ngrew familiar with the sound, and learned the way the notes went. And\nsometimes Battle would sit and, singing solemnly, almost as if a little\nforlornly, through his nose, would join in too. And sometimes to see\nthis small monkey perched up with head in air, he could scarce refrain\nhis laughter, though he always kept a straight face as kindly as with a\nchild.\n\nBut the leopards and other prowling beasts, when they heard the sound of\ntheir strings and music, went mewing and fretting; and many a great\npython and ash-scaled poison-snake would rear its head out of its long\nsleep and sway with flickering tongue in time to the noisy echoes from\nthe rocky and firelit shelf above. Even the Jack-Alls and Jaccatrays\nsquatted whimpering in their bands to listen, and would break when all\nwas silent into such a doleful and dismal chorus that it seemed to shake\nthe stars.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nIt was many a day after Nod had been taken in the sailor's snare, and\none very snowy, when the little Mulgar, looking up over his cooking, saw\nBattle come limping white and blood-beslobbered across the frozen stream\ntowards home. He carried nothing except his gun, neither beast nor bird.\nHe stumbled over the ice, and walked crazily. And when he reached the\nfire, he just tumbled his musket against a log and sat himself down\nheavily, holding his head in his hands, with a sighing groan. Now, this\nwas the fifth day or more that Battle had gone out and returned without\nmeat, and Nod, in his vanity, thought the sailor was beginning to weary\nof flesh, and to take pleasure only in nuts and fruit, as the\nMulla-mulgars do. But when Battle had dried up the deep scratch on his\nneck, and eaten a morsel or two of Nod's fresh-baked Nano-cake, he told\nhim of his doings.\n\nNod could even now, of course, only understand a little here and there\nof what Battle said. But he twisted out enough words to learn that the\nsailor was astonished and perplexed at finding such a scarcity of game,\nhowsoever far or cautiously he roamed in search of it.\n\n\"Ay, and maybe that's no great wonder, neether, what with this\neverlasting snow and all. But tell me this, Nod Mulgar: Why does,\nwhenever I spies a fine fat four-legged breakfast or two-winged supper\nfeeding within comfortable musket-shot--why does a howl like a\nM'keesoe's, dismal and devilish, break out not fifteen paces off, and\nscare away every living creature for leagues around? Why does leopards\nand Jack-Alls and Jaccatrays swarm round Andy Battle when he goes\na-walking, thick as cats round cream? They've scotched me this once, my\nson--an old she-leopard, black as pitch out of an Ollacondy. And I could\nhave staked a ransom I cast my eye over every bough. Next time who's to\nknow what may happen? Nizza-neela will go on cooking his little hot\nniminy-cakes, and wait and wait--only for bones--only for Battle's\nbones, Mulgar _mio_. What I says is this-how: leopards and Jaccatrays,\nfrom being what they once was, two or three, one to-day and three\nto-morrow, now lurks everywhere, looking me in the face as bold as\nbrass, and sniffling at my very musket. But, there! that's all\nplain-sailing. What Andy wants to know for sartin sure is: what beast it\nis grinds out so close against his ear that unearthly human howling?\n'Twixt me and you and Lord Makellacolongee, it criddles my very blood to\nhear it. My finger begins tapping on the musket-trigger like hail on a\nmillpond.\"\n\nNod listened, puckered and intent, and looked a good deal wiser than he\nwas. And when supper was done he fetched out the thick rhinoceros-shoes\nwhich Battle had made him, as if to go disporting himself as usual on\nthe ice. But, instead of this, he hid them behind a hummock of snow,\nand, crossing over the stream, crept to the edge of the snowy shelf, and\nsat under an Exxswixxia-bush, gazing down into the gloom, silently\nwatching and listening. He heard soft, furtive calls, whimperings. A\nstartled bird flew up on beating wings, and far and near the Jack-Alls\nwere hollowly barking one to another in their hunting-bands. But he saw\nno leopards nor heard any voice or sound he knew no reason for, or had\nnot heard before. Perhaps, he thought, his dull wits had misunderstood\nthe Oomgar's talk.\n\nHe was just about to turn away, when he heard a little call, often\nrepeated, \"Chikka, chikka,\" which means in Munza-mulgar, \"Bide here,\" or\n\"Wait awhile.\" And there, stealing up from under the longer grasses,\ncame who but Mishcha, the old witch-hare. But very slowly and cautiously\nshe came, pretending that she was searching out what poor fare she could\nfind in the dismal snow.\n\nWhen she was come close, she whispered: \"Move not; stir not a finger,\nMulla-mulgar; speak to me as I am. I have a secret thing to say to you.\nThese seven long frozen evenings have I come fretting abroad in my\nforest and watched and watched, and chikka'd and chikka'd, but you have\nnot come. Why, O Prince of Tishnar, do you linger here with this\nflesh-eating Oomgar, whose gun barks N[=o][=o]manossi all day long? Why\ndo you think no more of your brothers and of the distant valleys?\"\n\nNod crouched in silence a little while, twitching his small brows. \"But\nthis Oomgar took me in a snare,\" he said at last. \"And he has fed me,\nand been like my own father Seelem come again to me, and we are\nfriends--'messimuts,' old hare. Besides, I wait only until I am healed\nof my blains and thorns, and my shoulder is quite whole again. Then I\ngo. But even then, why has the old Queen duatta come louping through\nMunza all these seven evenings past, only to tell me that?\"\n\nMishcha eyed him silently with her whitening eyes. \"Not so blind am I\nyet, little Mulgar, as not to creep and creep a league for the sake of a\nfriend. Be off to-morrow, Nizza-neela! What knows an Oomgar of\nfriendship? _That_ brings only the last sleep.\"\n\n\"I mind not the last sleep, old hare,\" said Nod in his vanity. \"Did I\nfear it when half-frozen in the snow? Besides, my friend, the Oomgar,\nwhose name is Battle, he will guard me.\"\n\nMishcha crept nearer. \"Has not the little Mulla-mulgar, then, heard\nImman\u00e2la's hunting-cry?\"\n\nNow, Imman\u00e2la in Munza means, as it were, unstoried, nameless, unknown,\ndarkness, secrecy. All these the word means. Night is Imman\u00e2la to\nMunza-mulgar. So is sorcery. So, too, is the dark journey to death or\nthe Third Sleep. And this _Beast_ they name Imman\u00e2la because it comes of\nno other beast that is known, has no likeness to any. Child of nothing,\nwits of all things, ravenous yet hungerless, she lures, lures, and if\nshe die at all, dies alone. By some it is said that this Imman\u00e2la is the\nservant of N[=o][=o]manossi, and has as many lives as his white\nresting-tree has branches. And so she is born again to haunt and raven\nand poison Munza with cruelty and strife. All this Nod had heard from\nhis father Seelem, and his skin crept at sound of the name. But he\npretended he felt no fear.\n\n\"Who is this Imman\u00e2la, the Nameless?\" he scoffed softly, \"that a\nMulla-mulgar should heed her yapping (uggagugga)?\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the old hare, \"he boasts best who boasts in safety. Mishcha,\nlittle Mulgar, has met the Nameless face to face, and when I hear her\nhunting-cry I do not make merry. How could she all these days have given\near to the Oomgar's gun in the forest, and make no sign--she who has for\nher servants leopards and Jaccatrays of many years' hunting? Mark this,\ntoo,\" said Mishcha, \"if the little Mulgar were not the chosen of\nTishnar, his Oomgar would long ago have been nothing but a few picked\nbones.\"\n\nThe old hare touched him with her long-clawed foot, and gazed earnestly\ninto his face with her half-blind, whitening eyes. \"Yes, Mulgar,\" she\nsaid at last, whispering, \"your brothers that rode on the little Horses\nof Tishnar are none so far away. 'Why,' say they to each other, roosting\nhalf-frozen in their tree-huts--'why does Ummanodda betray all\nMunza-mulgar to the Oomgar's gun? He is no child of Royal Seelem's\nnow.'\"\n\nNod's heart stood still to hear again of his brothers, and that they\nwere so near. And Mishcha promised if he would abandon the Oomgar, she\nwould lead him to them. Nod gazed long into the gloom before he sadly\nanswered:\n\n\"I cannot leave my master,\" he said, \"who has fed and befriended me. I\ncannot leave him to be torn in pieces by this Beast of Shadows. He is\nwise--oh, he is wise! He was born to stand upright. He fears not any\nshadow. He walks with N[=o][=o]mas beneath every tree. He kills, old\nMishcha--that I know well--and feeds like a glutton on flesh. But a\nshe-leopard in one moon eats as many of the Munza-mulgars as she has\nroses on her skin. As for the Nameless, my father Seelem told me many a\ntime of _her_ thirsty tongue.\"\n\nThen Mishcha whispered warily in Nod's ear in the shadow of the\nthorn-bush beneath which they sat, turning her staring stone-coloured\neyes this way, that way. \"If the Oomgar were safe from her,\" she said,\nscarcely opening her thin lips above the lean curved teeth, \"would\n_then_ the little Mulgar go?\"\n\nNod laughed. \"Then would I go on all fours, O Mishcha, for I am weary of\nwaiting and being far from my brothers, Thumb and Thimble. Then would I\ngo at once if I could leave the Oomgar quietly to his hunting, and safe\nfrom this Shadow-beast and from more than three lean hunting leopards on\nthe Ollaconda boughs at one time.\"\n\nThen Mishcha told him what he should do. And Nod listened, shivering, in\npart for the cold, and in part for dread of what she was saying. \"There\nbe three things, Nizza-neela,\" she said, when she had told him all her\nstratagem--\"there be three things even a Mulla-mulgar must have who\nfights with Imman\u00e2la, Queen of Shadows: he must have Magic, he must have\ncunning, and he must have courage. Oh, little Prince of Tishnar, should\nI have physicked you and saved you from the sooty spits of the Minimuls\nif you had been neither wise nor brave?\"\n\nAnd Nod promised by his Wonderstone to do all that she had bidden him.\nAnd she crept soundlessly back into the gloom of the forest. Nod\nhimself quickly hobbled home, took up his sliding-shoes again, and\nreturned to the little hut and the Oomgar's red fire.\n\nBattle sat there, stooping in the light of the rising moon and the ruddy\nglow over his little book. But he held it for memory's sake rather than\nto read in it. His head was jerking in sleep when Nod sat himself down\nby the fire, and the little Mulgar could think quietly of all that the\nold hare had told him. He half shut his eyes, watching his slow, curious\nMulgar thoughts creep in and out. And while he sat there, lonely and\nwretched, struggling between love for his brothers and for the Oomgar,\nhe heard a small clear voice within him speaking that said: \"Courage,\nPrince Ummanodda! Tishnar is faithful to the faithful. Who is this\nNameless to set snares against her chosen? Fear not, Nizza-neela; all\nwill be well!\" Thus it seemed to Nod the inward voice was saying to him,\nand he took comfort. He would tell the poor sailor, perhaps, part of\nwhat he feared and knew, and with Tishnar to help him would seek out\nthis Imman\u00e2la and meet her face to face.\n\nNight rode in starry darkness above the great black forest. The logs\nburned low. Close before his fire sat Battle, his chin on his breast,\nhis yellow-haired head rolling from side to side in his sleep. Thin\nclear flames, blue and sulphur, floated along the logs, and lit up his\nfast-shut eyes. Nod sat with his little chops in his hairy hands\nwatching the sailor. Sometimes a solitary beast roared, or a night-bird\nsqualled out of the gloom. At last the little book fell out of Battle's\nsleep-loosened fingers. He started, raised his head, and stared into the\ndarkness, listening to howl answering to howl, shrill cry to distant\ncry. He yawned, showing all his small white teeth.\n\n\"Your friends are uncommon fidgety to-night, Nod Mulgar,\" he said.\n\nNod got up and threw more wood on the glowing fire. \"Not Mulla-mulgar's\nfriends. Nod's friends not hate Oomgar.\" Up sprang the flames, hissing\nand crackling.\n\nThe sailor grinned. \"Lor' bless ye, my son; you talks wonnerful\nhoity-toity; but in _my_ country they would clap ye into a cage.\"\n\n\"Cage?\" said Nod.\n\n\"Ay, in a stinking cage, with iron bars, for the rabble to jeer at. What\nwould the monkeys do with a white man, an Oomgar, if they cotched 'n?\"\n\n\"In my father Seelem's hut over there,\" said Nod, waving his long hand\ntowards the Sulemn[=a]gar, \"Oomgar's bones hanged click, click, click in\nthe wind.\"\n\nBattle stared. \"They hates us, eh? Picks us clean!\"\n\nNod looked at him gravely. \"Mulla-mulgar--me--not hate Oomgar. All\nMunza\"--he lifted his brows--\"ay! he kill and eat, eat, eat, same as\nleopard, same as Jaccatray.\"\n\nBattle frowned. \"It's tit for tat, my son. I kills Roses, or Roses kills\nme. Not a Jack-All that howls moon up over yonder that wouldn't say\ngrace for a picking. But apes and monkeys, no; not even a warty old\ndrumming Pongo that's twice as ugly as his own shadow in the glass. I\nnever did burn powder 'gainst a monkey yet. What's more,\" said Battle,\n\"who's to know but we was all what you calls Oomgars once? Good as.\nYou've just come down in the world, that's all. And who's to blame ye?\nNo barbers, no ships, no larnin', no nothing. Breeches?--One pair, my\nson, to half a million, as far as Andy ever set eyes on. Maybe you come\nfrom that wicked King Pharaoh over in Egypt there. Maybe you was one of\nthe plagues, and scuttled off with all the fleas.\" He grinned\ncheerfully. Nod watched his changing face, but what he said now he could\nnot understand.\n\n\"There's just one thing, Master Mulgar,\" went on Battle solemnly. \"Kill\nor not kill, hairy as hairy, or bald as a round-shot, God made us every\none. And speakin' comfortable-like, 'twixt you and me, just as my old\nmother taught me years gone by, I planks me down on my knees like any\nbabby this very hour gone by, while you was sliding in your shoes, and\nsaid me prayers out loud. I'm getting mortal sick of being lonesome. Not\nthat I blames _you_, my son. You're better company than fifty million\nparakeets, and seven-and-seventy Mullagoes of blackamoors.\"\n\nNod stared gravely. \"Oomgar talk; Nod unnerstand--no.\" He sorrowfully\nshook his head.\n\n\"My case all over,\" said Battle. \"Andy unnerstand--no. But there, we'll\noff to England, my son, soon as ever this mortal frost breaks. Years and\nyears have I been in this here dismal Munza. Man-eaters and Ephelantoes,\nPortingals and blackamoors, chased and harassed up and down, and never a\nspark of frost seen, unless on the Snowy Mountains. What wouldn't I give\nfor a sight of Plymouth now!\"\n\nHe rose and stretched himself. Facing him, across the unstirring\ndarkness of the forest shone palely the great new-risen moon. \"'Hi, hi,\nup she rises,'\" said Battle, staring over. \"'But what's to be done with\na shipwrecked sailor?' Nobody knows, but who can't tell us. Now, just\none stave, Nod Mulgar, afore we both turns in. Give us 'Cherry-trees.'\nNo, maybe I'll pipe ye one of Andy's Own, and you shall jine in, same as\nt'other.\" Nod climbed up and stood on his log, his hands clasped behind\nhis neck, and stamped softly with his feet in time, while Battle, after\ntuning up his great gourd--or Juddie, as he called it--plucked the\nsounding strings. And soon the Oomgar's voice burst out so loud and\nfearless that the prowling panthers paused with cowering head and\ntwitching ears, and the Jaccatrays out of the shadows lifted their\ncringing eyes up to the moon, dolefully listening. And when the last two\nlines of each verse had been sung, Battle plucked more loudly at his\nstrings, and Nod joined in.\n\n    \"Once and there was a young sailor, yeo ho!\n       And he sail\u00e8d out over the say\n     For the isles where pink coral and palm-branches blow,\n       And the fire-flies turn night into day,\n                 Yeo ho!\n       And the fire-flies turn night into day.\n\n    \"But the _Dolphin_ went down in a tempest, yeo ho!\n       And with three forsook sailors ashore,\n     The Portingals took him where sugar-canes grow,\n       Their slave for to be evermore,\n                 Yeo ho!\n       Their slave for to be evermore.\n\n    \"With his musket for mother and brother, yeo ho!\n       He warred wi' the Cannibals drear,\n     In forests where panthers pad soft to and fro,\n       And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear\n                 Yeo ho!\n       And the Pongo shakes noonday with fear.\n\n    \"Now lean with long travail, all wasted with woe,\n       With a monkey for messmate and friend,\n     He sits 'neath the Cross in the cankering snow,\n       And waits for his sorrowful end,\n                 Yeo ho!\n       And waits for his sorrowful end.\"\n\n    [Illustration: NOD DANCED THE JAQQUAS' WAR-DANCE, ... STOOPING AND\n    CROOKED \"WRIGGLE AND STAMP.\"]\n\nThis song sung, Nod danced the Jaqquas' war-dance, which Battle had\ntaught him, stooping and crooked, \"wriggle and stamp,\" gnashing his\nteeth, waving a club--which waving, indeed, always waved Nod sprawling\noff his log before long, and set Battle rolling with laughter, and ended\nthe dance.\n\nThat dance danced, they sat quiet awhile, Battle softly, very softly,\nthrumming on his Juddie, gazing into the fire. And suddenly in the\nsilence, out of the vast blackness of the moonlit leagues beneath them,\nbroke a strange and dismal cry. It rose lone and hollow, and yet it\nseemed with its sound to fill the whole enormous bowl of star-bedazzling\nsky above the forest. Then down it lingeringly fell, note by note,\nwailing and menacing, an answering song of hatred against the solitary\nOomgar and his gun.\n\nBattle caught up his musket and stood erect, facing with scowling eyes\nthe vast silence of the forest. And instantly from far and near,\nsolitary and in hunting-bands, deep and shrill, every beast that slinks\nand lies in wait beneath the moon broke into its hunting-cry.\n\nBattle stood listening with a savage grin on his face, until the last\necho had died away. Then, throwing down his musket, he hitched up the\ncloth bandage on his shoulder, lifted his great Juddie, and strode out\nfrom the fire a few paces till he stood black and solitary in the\nmoonlight of the snow. And he plucked the girding strings and roared out\nwith all his lungs his mocking answer:\n\n    \"Voice without a body,\n     Panther of black Roses,\n     Jack-Alls fat on icicles,\n     Ephelanto, Aligatha,\n     Zevvera and Jaccatray,\n     Unicorn and River-horse;\n             Ho, ho, ho!\n     Here's Andy Battle,\n     Waiting for the enemy!\n\n    \"Imbe Calandola,\n     M'keesso and Quesanga,\n     Dondo and Sharammba,\n     Pongo and Enjekko,\n     Millions of monkeys,\n     Rattlesnake and scorpion,\n     Swamp and death and shadow;\n             Ho, ho, ho!\n     Come on, all of ye,\n     Here's Andy Battle,\n     Waiting and--alone!\"\n\nHe swept his great scarred thumb over the strings with a resounding\nflourish, and burst into a laugh. Then he turned his back on the\nunanswering forest, and sat down by the fire again, wiping the sweat\nfrom his face and combing out his tangled beard. Nod drew a little away\nfrom the fire, and sat softly watching him. The Oomgar was muttering\nwith wide-open lids. He snatched up a lump of the cold Mulgar-bread that\nNod had cooked for his supper, and gnawed it with twitching fingers. He\nglanced over it with bright blue glittering eyes at his little\nhunched-up friend.\n\n\"Don't you have no shadow of fear, my son. If they come, come they must.\nJust you skip off into the forest with your courage where your tail\nought to be. I care not a pinch of powder for them or'nery beasts. It's\nthat there Shadowlegs that beats me with his mewling. I've heard it down\non the coast; I've heard it with the Portingals; I've heard it with the\nAndalambandoes; I've heard it wake and sleep. But witch-beast or no\nwitch-beast, and every skulk-by-night that creeps on claws, I'll win\nhome yet!\" He kicked a few loose smoking logs into the blaze. \"More\nfire, my son! I like a light to fight by when fighting comes.\"\n\nThe darkness was clear as glass. The sky seemed shaken as if with\nfire-flies. Not a sound stirred now, not even a hovering wing. Nod\nheaped high the huge fire, and followed the Oomgar into his hut.\n\nBut not to sleep. He crouched on his snug dry bed of moss, and waited\npatiently till Battle's snores rose slow and mournful beneath the\nsnow-piled roof. Then very quickly he put on his sheep's-coat over his\nJuzanda jacket and breeches. He crawled out, and lifted down with both\nhands the heavy bar of the door, and stole out into the moonlight again.\nHe thrust his puckered hand under his jacket, and touched his skinny\nbreast-bone, beneath which, ever since the little Horse of Tishnar had\ntoppled him into the snow, he had felt the slumbering Wonderstone\nstrangely burning. And, as if even Oomgar magic, too, might help him, he\nhobbled back into the hut and put Battle's little dog's-eared book into\nhis pocket. Then, before his heart could fail him, he ran out as fast as\nhis fours could carry him to where he had heard rise up in the night the\nHunting-Song of Imman\u00e2la.\n\nOn the extreme verge of the steep, opposite Battle's hut, stood a\nsolitary flat-headed rock beside the frozen stream. Here the water burst\nin a blaze of moonlight into a cascade of icicles and foam. Nod stood\nthere in the rock's shadow awhile, looking down into the forest. And as\nif a little cloud had come upon the glittering moon, he felt, as it\nwere, a sudden darkness above his head, and a cold terror crept over his\nskin.\n\nThen he stepped, trembling, out of the shadow of the rock into the\nmoonlight, and gazed up into the shadowy countenance of Imman\u00e2la. She\nlay gaunt and spare, her long neck touching the snow, her eye-balls\nbeneath their wide lids fixed glassily on Nod. He gazed and gazed, until\nit seemed he was sinking down, down into those wide unstirring eyes.\n\nHis heart seemed to rise up into his mouth. He coughed, and something\nhard and round and tingling slid on to his tongue. He put up his hand to\nhis thick lips, and, like courage that steals into the mind when all\nelse is vain, fell into his hand, milk-pale and magical, the long-hidden\nWonder-stone.\n\n    [Illustration: HE FELT A SUDDEN DARKNESS ABOVE HIS HEAD, AND A COLD\n    TERROR CREPT OVER HIS SKIN.]\n\n\"I couch here, Ummanodda,\" said the Nameless, without stirring, \"night\nafter night, hungry and thirsty, waiting for the Oomgar's head. Why does\nthe Mulla-mulgar keep me waiting so long for my supper?\"\n\n\"Because, O Queen of Shadows,\" said Nod as calmly as he could--\"because\nthe head of the Oomgar refuses to come without his legs--and his gun.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said she, \"there must be many a shallow gourd in the Oomgar's\nhut. Cut off the head, and bring it hither yourself in that.\"\n\n\"Oh\u00e9,\" said Nod, \"the Nameless has sharp teeth, if all that is said be\ntrue. She shall cut, and I will carry. Princes of Tishnar have no tongue\nfor blood.\"\n\nImman\u00e2la crouched low, with jutting head. \"Who is this Prince of Tishnar\nthat, having no tongue for blood, roasts meat with fire for an Oomgar,\nthe enemy of us all?\"\n\n\"I, Nameless, am Nod,\" said he softly. \"But meat dead is dead meat. What\nagainst _me_ is it if this blind Oomgar hungers for scorched bones? It\nis a riddle, Imman\u00e2la. Come with me now, then; let us palaver with him\ntogether.\"\n\n\"Yea, together!\" snarled the Nameless--\"I to ride and thou to carry.\"\nShe gathered herself as if to spring.\n\nNod whispered, \"O Tishnar!\" and he stood stock-still.\n\nImman\u00e2la drew back her flat grey head from the snow, and shook it,\nsoftly glancing at the moon.\n\n\"Why, O Prince of Tishnar, should we be at strife one with another? We\nhate the Oomgar. And if it were not for this magic that is yours, my\nservants would have slain him long since in his hunting.\"\n\n\"Ah, me!\" said Nod, sighing it in Mulgar-royal, as if to himself alone,\n\"I myself love this Oomgar none too much. Did he not catch me walking\nlonely in Munza in a wild pig snare? If he is to die, let him die, says\nNod. But I like not your fashion of hunting, Beast of Shadows, skulking\nand creeping and scaring off his wandering supper-meat. Bring your\nhunting-dogs into the open snow here out of their dens and lairs and\nshadows. Then shall the Oomgar fight like an Oomgar, one against a\nhundred, and Nod can go free!\"\n\nImman\u00e2la rose bristling against the clearness of the moon.\n\n\"Tell me, Prince of Tishnar, what is this story you seem to be\nwhispering about my hunting-dogs?\"\n\nAnd Nod, with his Wonderstone clipped tight in his hot palm, bethought\nhim of all Mishcha's counsel, and promised Imman\u00e2la he would come down\nthe next night following. And if she would call her packs into the\nravine, he would lead them, and open the door of the hut and lure out\nthe Oomgar. \"Then you, O fearless Queen of Shadows, shall watch the hunt\nin peace,\" he said. \"One forsaken Oomgar without his gun against\nnine-and-ninety Jack-Alls and Jaccatrays, and perhaps a Roses or two,\nfamished and parched with cold. Ay, but before I whistle them up,\" he\nmuttered, as if to himself, \"I must steal the Oomgar's M'Keesso's coat,\nwhich is drenched through with magic.\"\n\nImman\u00e2la peered gloatingly from her rock. \"The little Mulla-mulgar has a\ncunning face,\" she said, \"and a heart of many devices. I have heard of\nhis comings and goings in Munza-mulgar. But if he deal falsely with me,\nthough Tishnar came herself in all her brightness, I would wait and\nwait. Not an Utt nor a Nikka-nikka but should be his enemy, and as for\nthose magicless Mulla-mulgars his brothers, who even now squat sullen\nand hungry in their leafy houses, they shall lie cold as stones before\nthe morning light.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Nod softly, \"he must be frightened who begins to threaten. I\nhave no fear of you, O Nameless, who are but a creeping candle-fly at\ntwilight to the blaze of Tishnar's moon. Come hither to-morrow with your\nhalf-starved hunting-dogs, and I'll show you good hunting, will I.\"\n\nWithout another word, with every hair on end, he ran swiftly back to the\nhut by the way he had come. But even now his night's doings were not\nended, for in a while, by which time the Imman\u00e2la should have returned\nfrom her watching-rock into the shadows of the forest, he ran out again,\nand, crouching beneath the old Exxswixxia-bush under the Sulemn[=a]gar,\nhe called softly: \"Mishcha, old hare! Mishcha!\"\n\nWhen he had called her many times, she came slowly and warily limping\nacross the chequered snow. And Nod told her of all he had done that\nnight, and of how he had met and abashed the Nameless face to face. The\nold hare watched dimly his flashing eyes and the vainglory of the face\nof the young Mulgar Prince boasting in his finery, and she grimly\nsmiled.\n\n\"Chakka, chakka,\" says she; \"tchackka, tchackka: you bleed before you're\nwounded, Mulgar-royal.\"\n\nBut Nod in the heat of his glory cared nothing for what his old friend\nsaid to quench it. And he told her to bring his brothers to the great\nUkka-tree that stood over against the shadow, where they talked, there\nto wait and watch till morning. \"By that time,\" he said, \"I shall have\nfinished my supper with the Nameless, and the Oomgar will know me for\nthe Prince I am.\"\n\nMishcha wagged slowly her old head. She hated the Oomgar, but she hated\nthe Beast of Shadows more, and off she hopped again, stiff and cold, to\nseek out Thimble and Thumb.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\nBattle went out hunting as usual the next morning. Tracks of leopards\nwere everywhere in the night's thin snow. He ventured not far into the\nforest, and returned with only a poor old withered bird, too cold and\nweak to fly off from his gun.\n\n\"It's this way, my son,\" he said; \"I've heard the thing before. That\nhowl brings half the forest against me, like blue-flies to meat. So all\nI does is to keep a weather-eye open, and musket a-cock. One of these\ndays, Mulgar _mio_, Shadow or no Shadow, she shall have a brace of\nbullets in her vitals, as sure as my name's Battle.\" But in spite of his\nfine words, he crouched gloomy and distracted beside his fire all day,\ncasting ever and anon a stealthy glance over his shoulder, and lifting\nhis eye slowly above the flames, to survey the clustering fringes of the\nforest around his hut.\n\nBut Nod told Battle nothing of his talk with the old hare. He did not\nas much as tell him even that his brothers were near, or that he had\nseen Imman\u00e2la. He cleaned his master's gun. He busied himself over his\nNano-cakes and nuts, and prevailed on Battle to eat by making him laugh\nat his antics. The more he thought of leaving him, and of the danger of\nthe coming night, and the stony cruelty of Imman\u00e2la's gloating eyes, his\nheart fell deeper and deeper into trouble and dismay. But each time when\nit seemed he must run away and hide himself he gulped his terror down,\nand touched his Wonderstone.\n\nHe himself lugged out Battle's Juddie when evening fell. But Battle had\nno mind for merriment and braveries that night. He picked out idly on\nthe strings old mournful chanties that sailors sometimes sing; and he\ntaught Nod a new song to bray out in his queer voice, \"She's me forgot\":\n\n    \"'Me who have sail\u00e8d\n       Leagues across\n     Foam haunted\n       By the albatross,\n     Time now hath made\n       Remembered not:\n     Ay, my dear love\n       Hath me forgot.\n\n    \"'Oh, how should she,\n       Whose beauty shone,\n     Keep true to one\n       Such long years gone?\n     Grief cloud those eyes!--\n       I ask it not:\n     Content am I--\n       She's me forgot.\n\n    \"'Here where the evening\n       Oobo\u00eb wails,\n     Bemocking\n       England's nightingales,\n     Bravely, O sailor,\n       Take thy lot;\n     Nor grieve too much,\n       She's thee forgot!'\"\n\nBut even between his slow-drawled, shakety notes of deep and shrill Nod\nlistened for the least stir in the forest, and seemed to hear the low,\nhungry calls and scamperings of Imman\u00e2la's hunting-pack, which she had\nsummoned from far and near to the tangled ravine beneath the rock.\n\nHe got Battle early to bed by telling him he would dress his wounded\nshoulder, which was angry and inflamed, with a poultice of leaves such\nas his mother, Mutta-matutta, had taught him to make. \"Now,\" says he,\n\"it be broad full-moontime, master, and all Munza-mulgar will be gone\nhunting. But wake not. Nod, Prince of Tishnar, will watch;\" and even as\nhe said it came remembrance of the Pigs to mind.\n\nBattle laughed, thinking what wondrous good sense these two-legged\nmonkeys seemed to have, concerning which King Angeca had yet himself\noften assured him that it is all nothing but a show and pretence, since\nman alone has wisdom and knowledge, and little remains over for the\nbeasts to share.\n\nThe warmth and sleepiness of his big poultice soon set him snoring. And\nin a blaze of moonlight Nod warily opened the door, and stood in the\nsquat black shadow of the hut, looking out over the forest. He had\nbound himself up tight. He had wound up his Wonderstone in a piece of\nlead that he had found in the hut to keep it from hopping in his pocket,\nand had stuck the sailor's sharp sheath-knife down the leg of his\nbreeches.\n\nThen, like but an Utt or a gnome in that great waste of whiteness, he\nsallied out to destroy the Nameless. He came to the rock, but no shadow\ncouched there now in the sheen. He crept on all fours, and between two\ngreat frost-lit boulders peeped into the ravine. There, changing and\nstirring, shone the numberless small green lanterns of the eyes of\nImman\u00e2la's hunting-pack. He heard their low whinings and the soft crunch\nof their clawed feet in the snow. Else all was still.\n\nAnd Nod called in a low voice: \"Why do you hide from me, Imman\u00e2la, Queen\nof Shadows?\"\n\nHe waited, but no answer came. \"Venture out, mistress,\" cried Nod\nlouder, \"and we will be off together to the Oomgar's hut. You shall sit\non the roof and watch the hunting-dogs at their supper.\"\n\nAt that, up by a narrow path from the ravine stole Imman\u00e2la, and all the\nJack-Alls and Jaccatrays fell silent, staring with blazing eyes out of\nthe darkness.\n\n\"Call not so lustily, Prince of Tishnar!\" she said, fawning; \"we shall\nawake the Oomgar.\"\n\n\"Oh\u00e9,\" said Nod boldly; \"he sleeps deep. He fears neither beast nor\nMeermut in all this frozen Munza. Bid your greedy slaves stand ready,\nImman\u00e2la. When I whistle them, supper is up.\"\n\nImman\u00e2la lifted her flat grey head, and seemed to listen. \"I hear the\nharps of Tishnar in the forest. The leaves of the branches of the trees\nof my master N[=o][=o]manossi stir, and yet there moves no wind.\"\n\nShe fixed her colourless eyes on Nod, with her ears on her long, smooth\nforehead pricked forward. \"What is the cunning Mulgar thinking beneath\nall he says? Like fine sand in water, I hear the rustling of his\nthoughts.\"\n\nNod took a long breath and shut his eyes. \"I was thinking,\" he said,\n\"what stupid fellows must be these dogs of yours, seeing that each and\nevery one keeps whimpering, 'The head--the head for me!' But they must\nwait in patience yet a little longer, if even a knucklebone is to be a\nshare. I will go forward and choose out all that I and the\nMulla-mulgars, my brothers, want of the Oomgar's house-treasures before\nthe Jaccatrays tear everything to pieces.\"\n\n\"Softly, now, softly,\" said Imman\u00e2la. \"You think very little of me,\nNizza-neela. Do you dream I came from far to protect you from my slaves,\nRoses and Jaccatray, and now am to get nothing for my pains? What of\nthat stiff coat drenched with magic? That is mine. No, no, little greedy\nMulgar; we share together, or I have all.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Nod, as if unwilling, \"you shall take part, mistress,\nthough all that's there is truly Tishnar's. Follow quietly! I will see\nif my Zbaffle be still asleep.\"\n\nImman\u00e2la crouched snarling in the moonlight, and Nod ran swiftly to the\nhut. The moon streamed in on the sailor's upturned face, where, lying\nflat on his back, he snored and snored and snored. Then Nod very quietly\ntook down from its wooden hook the sailor's great skin coat, his belt of\nEphelanto-hide, his huge hair hat, all such as in his wanderings he had\ncaptured from black Kings and men of magic. He filled the pockets, he\nstuffed them with bullets and copper rings and stones and lumps of\nice--everything heavy that he could find. At the rattling of the stones\nBattle rolled over, muttering hoarsely in his sleep. Nod stopped\ninstantly and listened. No words he understood. Then once more he set to\nwork, and soon had dragged the huge stiff coat and hat and belt one by\none over the door-log into the snow.\n\n\"Hither, come hither! Hasten, mistress!\" he called softly, capering\nround about them. \"Here's a sight to cheer your royal heart! Here's\nriches! What have we here but the magic coat which the Oomgar stripped\nfrom the M'keeso of the old Lord Shillambansa, that feeds a hundred\npeacocks on his grave?\"\n\nVery, very heedfully Imman\u00e2la drew near on her belly in the snow.\nCat-like, she smelt and capered.\n\n\"Have no fear, Beast of Shadows,\" called Nod softly; \"the Oomgar sleeps\nlike moss on the Tree of Everlasting.\"\n\nThen all her vanity and greed welled up in the Beast of Shadows, for\nwhosoever her dam may be, and all her lineage of solitude and\nstrangeness, she has more greed than a wolf, more vanity than a vixen.\nShe thrust her long lean head into the Cap.\n\n\"Do but now let me help you, mistress,\" said Nod, \"as I used to help the\nOomgar. Stand upright, and I will thrust your arms into the sleeves. We\nmust hasten, we must be quiet.\" At every glance her greed and vanity\nincreased. Nod heaved and tugged till his thick fur lay dank on his\npoll, and at last the dreadful Beast was draped and swathed and mantled\nfrom ears to tail in the Oomgar's coat.\n\n\"Now for the Dondo's belt of sorcery,\" said Nod. \"Sure, none will dare\nsneeze in Munza-mulgar when the sailorman is gone.\" He put the thick\nbelt round her lean body, though his head swam with her muskiness, and\ndrew it tight into the buckle.\n\n\"Gently, gently, little brother!\" sighed Imman\u00e2la. \"It is heavy, and I\nscarce can breathe.\"\n\n\"The very Oomgar himself used often to snort,\" said Nod.\n\n\"But why does he keep so many stones in his pocket?\" pined Imman\u00e2la.\n\n\"Why, Queen of Wisdom! What if the wind should blow, and all his magic\nflit away? Ay, ay, ay! stripped from the M'keeso of the dead Lord\nShillambansa came this coat into my Messimut's hands, who feeds five\nhundred peacocks on his grave! And now his wondrous Cap of Hair! Nine\nFulbies, as I live, were flayed to skin that cap withal,\" said Nod, \"and\nseven rogue Ephelantoes gave the Oomgar of their tails.\"\n\n\"Ah yes, ah yes!\" groaned Imman\u00e2la; \"but what are seventy Ephelantoes\ncompared with Imman\u00e2la, Queen of All?\"\n\n\"Now,\" said Nod, \"I will weary myself no more with speeches. Is it\nwarm?\"\n\n\"I am in a furnace; I burn.\"\n\n\"Is it too loose? Does it wrinkle? Does it sag?\"\n\n\"Oh, but I can breathe but a mouthful at a time!\"\n\n\"Last and last again, then,\" said Nod, packing into the pockets one or\ntwo of the stones and bullets and lumps of ice that had fallen out, \"is\nit comfortable?\"\n\n\"O my friend, my scarce-wise Mulgar-royal, when did you ever hear that\ngrand clothes were comfortable?\"\n\n\"Wait but a little moment, then, while I go in to fetch the magic-glass,\nthat will show you your face, Imman\u00e2la, handsome and lovesome.\"\n\nThe Beast struggled faintly in her magic coat. \"Have a care--oh, have a\ncare, Ummanodda! The gun, the gun! The Oomgar might wake. Let me creep\nswiftly to my stone, and bring the glass to me there.\"\n\n\"The Oomgar will not wake,\" said Nod; \"he sleeps as deep as the Ghost of\nthe Rose upon the bosom of Tishnar.\"\n\n\"But, O Mulgar, think again. Strip off from my body this grievous belt,\"\nshe pleaded; \"you will keep nothing for yourself.\"\n\n\"Have no fear, friend,\" said Nod shakily; \"I will keep\"--and his eyes\nmet hers in the shadow of the hat, stony and merciless and ravenous--\"I\nwill keep,\" he grunted, \"my Zbaffle.\"\n\nHe went into the hut and seated himself on a little stool. Then very\ncarefully he took the Wonderstone out of his pocket and unwrapped it.\nIts pale gleam mingled softly with the moonlight, as a rainbow mingles\nwith foam. Wetting his left thumb with spittle, he rubbed it softly,\nsoftly, Samaweeza, three times round. And distant and clear as the\nshining of a star a voice seemed to cry: \"The Spirit of Tishnar answers,\nPrince Ummanodda Nizza-neela; what dost thou require of me?\"\n\n\"Oh, by Tishnar, only this,\" said Nod, trembling: \"that the\nnine-and-ninety hunting-dogs in their hunting mistake the ravening\nBeast of Shadows, Imman\u00e2la, for the sailorman, Zbaffle, my master and\nfriend.\"\n\nAnd surely, when Nod looked out from the doorway, it seemed that,\nstrange and terrible, the shape muffled within the Oomgar's coat was\nswollen out, stretched lean and tall, that even lank gold hair did\ndangle on her shoulders from beneath the furry cap. It seemed he heard a\nfar-away crying--crying, out of that monstrous bale, as the creature\nwithin, standing hidden from the moonlight, began to sway and stir and\ntotter over the snow. And Nod, choking with terror, called one word\nonly--\"Sul\u00e2ni!\" Then, with all his force, he whistled once, twice,\nthrice, clear and loud and long and shrill; then he shut fast the door\nand barred it, and went and crouched beside the Oomgar's bed.\n\nAlready Battle was wide awake. \"Ahoy!\" said he, and started up and\nthrust out his hand for his gun.\n\n\"Steady--oh, steady, Oomgar Zbaffle!\" said Nod. \"It is dogs of the\nImman\u00e2la only, that soon will be gone.\"\n\nEven as he spoke rose out of the distance a dreadful baying and howling.\nBattle leapt up out of his bed to the window-hole. But Nod squatted\nshivering, his face hidden in his hands.\n\n\"Ghost of me! What is it?\" said Battle to himself. \"What beast is this\nthey're after--M'keeso, or Man of the Woods?\"\n\nIt reeled, it fell, it rose up; it wheeled slowly, faintly weeping and\nwhining, and then stood still, with arms lifted high, struggling like a\nman with a great burden. But over the crudded snow, like a cloud across\nthe moon, streamed with brindled hair on end, jaws gaping and flaming\neyes, the hungry pack of the Shadow's hunting-dogs. \"Oomgar, Oomgar,\nOomgar, Oomgar!\" they yelled one to another. \"Imman\u00e2la, Imman\u00e2la, death,\ndeath, death!\" And presently, while Battle in amazement watched, there\ncame one miserable cry of fear and pain. The tottering shape seemed to\nmelt, to vanish.\n\nThen Nod scampered and opened the door.\n\n\"What say you now, hunting-dogs? Was the Oomgar tender or tough?\"\n\n\"Tough, tough!\" they yelled.\n\n\"Go, then, and tell your mistress, Queen of Shadows, Imman\u00e2la, that you\nhave supped with the Prince of Tishnar, and are satisfied.\"\n\n\"Why lurks the little Mulgar in the Oomgar's hut?\" yelped a lank hoary\nJaccatray.\n\n\"I guard her treasures for the Nameless,\" said Nod; but he had hardly\nsaid the word when he heard Battle striding to the door.\n\n\"It's no good prattling and blabbing, my son,\" he was saying. \"If come\nit be, it's come. Off, now, while your skin's whole, and let me give the\nrogues a taste of powder.\"\n\nTwo or three of the hunting-dogs yelped aloud. \"What, my brothers!\" said\nNod. \"Did you hear the Oomgar's Meermut calling for his gun?\"\n\nA few of the meaner dogs scampered off a few paces at this, sniffing and\ncocking their ears.\n\n\"Out of the way, Pongo,\" whispered the Englishman through the doorway,\nand the next moment there fell a crash that nearly toppled Nod into the\nsnow, and Battle strode out of the hut with his smoking musket. But the\ncowardly Jack-Alls, at sound of his gun and at sight of the ghost of the\nOomgar they had torn to pieces, lifted up their voices in a howl of\nterror, and in an instant over the snow they swept off at a gallop, and\nsoon were lost in the moonless silence and shadowiness of Munza.\n\nNod turned towards the hut. Battle stood in his breeches, his gun in his\nhand, his blue eyes wide open as if in fear.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n\n\"What's these, what's these?\" he muttered, for there, on the farther\nbank of the stream, stood in the twilight of the sinking moon two\nstrange, solitary figures, motionless, staring. Nod ran to Battle, and\nlaid his long narrow hand on the glimmering gun-barrel. \"Oh, not shoot,\nnot shoot!\" he said, \"black Oomgars--no; Mulla-mulgars, too, Nod's\nfriends, Nod's brothers!\"\n\n\"What's he jabbering about?\" said Battle, with eyes fixed brightly on\nthe two gaunt shapes.\n\n\"Nod's brothers, there,\" said Nod--\"Thumb, Thimble, Thimble, Thumb. Nod\nshow Oomgar. Oh, wait softly!\" He ran swiftly over the snow till he came\nto the frozen bank of the stream. But still his brothers never stirred,\nragged and hollow-eyed with hunger and cold.\n\n\"Come,\" said Nod, lifting up his hands in salutation; \"there is no fear,\nno danger! Here is Nod, my brothers.\"\n\n\"What voice was that we heard?\" said Thumb, trembling. \"Can the mouth of\nthe Oomgar speak after it is shut in death?\"\n\n\"The Oomgar is not dead, Thumb, my brother; the hunting-packs killed\nonly that Beast of Shadows, Imman\u00e2la, who hoped to kill us all, and the\nOomgar, too. Come over, my brothers! Every day, every night, Nod has\ntalked in his quiet with you.\"\n\n\"We do not understand the little Oomgar,\" said Thimble angrily. \"Who are\nyou, the youngest of us all, to lie and make cunning against the people\nof the forest? Let your master, the blood-spilling Oomgar, shoot us,\ntoo. What are we in such a heap of bones? We have no fear of him. On all\nfours, back, parakeet; tell him where the Mulgars' hearts lie hid. Maybe\nhe'll fling his Nizza-neela a bone.\"\n\n\"O Thimble, Mulla-mulgar, why do you seek out all the black words for\nme? Haven't I done all for the best? Did I play false with you when I\nsaved you from the spits of the Minimuls? The little Horse of Tishnar\nsmelt out my wounded shoulder. And the Oomgar's strangling trap caught\nme. But he did not kill me. He took me, and was kind to me, fed me and\nshared his fire with me, and we were 'messimuts.' Yet all day, all\nnight, moon and no-moon, I have talked in myself with you, and run\nlooking for you in my dreams, while I slept in the hairless Oomgar's\nhut. The Nameless is gone for a little while. The Oomgar is wise with\nhis hands and in little things. Now I may go. He kills only for meat,\nMulla-mulgars. He will do no harm to Ummanodda's brothers. Come over\nwith me!\"\n\nThumb and Thimble, with toes a little turned in, and heads bent forward,\nstood listening in the snow.\n\n\"Why, then,\" said Thumb, muttering, \"if he kills only for food, and\nrelishes not his own flavour in the pot, let him hobble out here to us\nnow and greet us, like with like--Oomgar-mulgar with Mulla-mulgar--and\nleave his spit-fire and his magic behind him. But into his hut, nor\nstumbling among his Munza bones, we will _not_ go. And if he will not\ncome, brother to brother, then it is 'Gar Mulgar dusangee' between us\nthree, O youngest son of Seelem. Go back to your cooking-pots. I and\nThimble will journey on alone. All day would the Harp-strings be\ntwangling over Mulgars smelling of blood.\"\n\nSo Nod, cold with misery, went back to Battle, who sat yawning, gun on\nknee, beside his fire.\n\n\"Oomgar!\" he said, leaning a little on one small hand, and standing a\nfew paces distant from the sailor, \"my brothers, the Mulla-mulgars, sons\nof Seelem, brother of Assasimmon, Prince of the Valleys of Tishnar, are\nhere. They say Nod is not true, speaks lies, eater-of-flesh, no child of\nTishnar.\" He stared forlornly into Battle's face. \"Tired of his living\nis Nod now. Shoot straight with Oomgar Zbaffle's gun. Nod will be\nstill.\"\n\nThe Englishman crinkled up his eyelids, opened his mouth, and burst out\nlaughing.\n\n\"To tell ye sober truth, my son,\" he said, \"bullets and powder Battle\nhaven't much left to waste. And what's lark-pie to a hungry sailor! As\nfor them hunched-up hobbagoblins over yonder, don't 'ee heed what envy\nhas to say. Battle is hands down on your side, my son, and let 'em\nmeddle if they dare! But mercy on us,\" he added under his breath, \"what\nwouldn't my old mother have said to hear these Pongoes chatter? 'Shoot\nstraight!' says he. 'Tired of his living!' says he. Button up your\nsheep's-jacket, my son. We'll home to England yet. And, what's more\"--he\nwaved his hand towards the lonely figures still standing motionless in\nthe silvery dusk--\"Andy Battle's best respects to the hairy gentlemen,\nand there's a warm welcome and fresh-picked bones for breakfast. But the\nnight's creeping cold, and bed's bed, old friend, and Andy's eyes was\nnever made for moth-hunting. So here goes.\" He went in with his gun, and\nNod heard him shut and bar the door.\n\nNod listened awhile, with eyes fixed sorrowfully on the fast-shut door;\nthen, having heaped more logs on to the fire, he went slowly back to his\nbrothers.\n\nNow that the moon was down, and night at its darkest, the frost\nhardened. And Thumb and Thimble, when they were sure the Oomgar was\nasleep in his hut, were glad enough to hobble across the ice and to sit\nand warm themselves before the fire. Their jackets hung in tatters.\nThumb's left second toe was frost-bitten, and Thimble's eyes were so\nsore from the glaring whiteness of the snow he could only dimly see.\nMoreover, they were weary of living and sleeping in their tree-houses\namong the scatter-brained Forest-mulgars, and though at first they sat\nshaky and sniffing, and started if but a dry leaf snapped in the fire,\nthey listened in silence to Nod's long story of his doings, and began to\nsee at last that what he had done by Mishcha's counsel had been for the\nbest, and not for his own sake only.\n\n\"But we cannot stay here, Ummanodda,\" said Thumb. \"We could not rub\nnoses with the Oomgar. His voice, his smell! He is not of our kind,\nlittle brother. And now that all the peoples of Munza-mulgar are our\nenemies, we must press on, with no more idling and fine eating and\nsitting shanks to fire, or we shall never reach the Valleys alive.\"\n\n\"I am ready, Thumb, my brother,\" Nod answered. \"The Oomgar has been kind\nto me, his own kind's kind. It was my Tishnar's Wonderstone that saved\nhim from the teeth of the Nine-and-ninety, and from Imman\u00e2la's magic,\nthough why should I tell it is so? Now they will think it is his\nskin-bonneted Meermut that stalks to and fro with the ghost-gun of a\nghost. They will forsake this place, every one--claw and talon, upright\nand fours, every one. How long shall a flesh-eater, hungry and\ngluttonous, live on dried berries and nuts? Me gone; unless the frost\nflies soon, or a great Bobberie, as he does say, comes up from that\nstrange water, the Sea, over yonder, the Oomgar will die. O brothers,\njust as that Oomgar, the Portingal, died whose bones dangled over us\nwhen we stood by Mutta's knee and listened to them clicking. Do but let\nme stay to say good-bye, and we will go together at morning!\"\n\nSo, when day began to break, Thumb and Thimble hastened away and hid\nthemselves in the Ukka-trees till Nod should come out to them. Nod\nbusied himself, and baked his last feast with his master. He broiled him\nsome bones--they were little else--of the Jack-All the sailor had shot\nin the moonlight. And when Battle--strange and solitary as he seemed to\nNod now, after talking with and looking on his brothers--when Battle\nopened the door and came out, Nod told him as best he could, in the few\nwords of his English, of Imman\u00e2la and her hunting-dogs, and of his\nbrothers. And he told him that he must leave him now, and go on his\ntravels again. Battle listened, scratching his head, and with a patient,\nperplexed grin on his face, but he could understand only very little of\nwhat Nod meant. For even a Mulla-mulgar, though he can repeat like a\nchild, or like a parrot, by rote, has small brains for really learning\nanother language, so that it may be a telling picture of his thoughts.\nIndeed, Battle thought that poor Nod had fallen a little crazy with the\ncold. He fondled him and scratched his head--this Prince of Tishnar--as\nif he were at his hearth at home, and Nod his country cat. But at least\nhe knew that the little Mulgar wished to leave him, and he made no\nhindrance except his own sadness to his going. He gave him out of his\nown pocket a silver groat with a hole in it, and a large piece of fine\nlooking-glass, besides the necklet of clear blue Bamba-beads, and three\nrings of copper. He gave him, too, one leaf of his little fat book, and\nin this Nod wrapped his Wonderstone. Nor even in his kindness did Battle\nsay the least word about his big coat and Ephelanto-belt and his Fulby's\nhairy hat--all which things he supposed (Mulgars being by nature thieves\nand robbers in his mind) Nod's brothers had stolen.\n\n\"Good-bye, my son,\" he said. \"'Bravely, ole sailor, take your lot!'\nThere, there; I make no dwelling on fine words. Good-bye, and don't\nforget your larnin'. There's many a full-growed Christian Battle's come\nacrost in his seafarin'--but there, flattery butters no parsnips.\nGood-bye, once more, Mulgar _mio_, and thankee kindly.\"\n\nNod raised his hands above his head. \"Oomgar, Oomgar,\" he said, with\neyes shut and trembling lips, \"ah-mi, ah-mi; sul\u00e2ni, ghar magleer.\"\nThen, with a heavy heart, he turned away, and without looking back ran\nscampering as fast as he could to the five Ukka-trees. His brothers had\nlong been awaiting him, and swang down gladly from their sleeping-bowers\nin the trees. Then, with the hut and the Oomgar's pillar of smoke upon\ntheir cudgel-hand, they set out once more, all but due North, towards\nthe Valleys of Assasimmon.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\n\nThe sun rose and beat down on the bare expanse of snow. But soon they\nlurched headlong down again into the forest. But it was forest not so\ndense as the forest of the Minimul mounds, nor by a tenth part as dark\nas the forest where haunts the Telateuti. At scent of Nod every small\nbeast and bird scuttled off and flew away. And it was dreary marching\nfor the travellers where all that lived feared even their savour on the\nwind. But by evening they had pushed on past Battle's farthest hunting,\nand being wearied with their long day's march, nor any tracks of\nleopards to be seen, they made no fire with their fire-sticks, but\ngathered a big heap of dry leaves scattered in abundance by this strange\ncold, this Witzaweelw[=u]llah, and huddled themselves close for warmth\nin sleep.\n\nNext day they broke out into the open again, and before them, clear as\namber or coral, still and beautiful in the sunrise, rose afar off upon\nthe horizon the solitary peaks, which are seven--Kush, Zut, and Kippel,\nSolmi, Makkri, M[=o][=o]t, and Mulgar-meerez--the Mountains of\nArakkaboa.\n\nAll this day they trudged on in difficulty and discomfort, for the\nground was sharp and stony, and sloped now perpetually upward. And\nthough at first sight of them it had seemed they had need but to stretch\nout a finger to touch the mountain-tops, they found the farther they\njourneyed towards them the more distant seemed these wonderful peaks to\nbe. And their spirits began to sink.\n\nOn the evening of the fifth day Thumb and Thimble were stooping together\nover their fire-sticks in a great waste of bare rocks, while Nod was\npounding up a sweet but unknown fruit they had found in their day's\nmarch growing close upon the ground, when suddenly they heard in the\ndistance a hubbub of shouts and cries the like of which they had never\nheard in their lives before. They hastily concealed their small bundles\nof food in a crevice of the rocks, and, creeping cautiously, peered out\nin the last rays of the sun in order to discover the cause of this\nprodigious uproar.\n\nAnd they saw advancing towards them a vast host and multitude of the\npainted Babbab[=o][=o]ma-mulgars, travelling, as is their custom, in\ncompany across these desolate wastes. On they came rapidly, the biggest\nmales on the margins. But presently, while they were yet some little way\noff, at sound of a great shout all came to a standstill, the sun now\nbeing set, to take up their night-quarters. Even in the fading light\ntheir body-colours glowed, scarlet and purple, and bright Candar blue,\nwhere, squatting in their hundreds at supper (some meanwhile pacing\nsedately on the outskirts of the company like watchmen, to and fro on\nall fours, with long, doglike snouts and jutting teeth), they made their\nevening encampment.\n\nAll that night our Mulla-mulgars never ventured to kindle a fire. They\nhuddled for warmth as best they could in a crevice of the rocks, warmed\nonly by their own hairy bodies. For they had heard of old from Seelem\nhow these Babbab[=o][=o]ma troops resent with ferocity the least\nmeddling with them. They will speedily stone to death any intruder, and\nwill tear a leopard in pieces with their teeth. But the travellers, all\nthree, curiously, cautiously peeping out, watched their doings while\nthere was the least light left, taking good care that not a spark of\ntheir jackets should be seen, for these Babbab[=o][=o]mas fret more\nfiercely even than our bulls at the colour red.\n\nThey watched them sprinkling, scratching themselves, like the\nMullabruks, with their feet, and dusting their great bodies with dry\nsnow, rubbing it in with their hands, though for what purpose, seeing\nthat snow had never whitened their pilgrimages before, who can say? The\nchildren, the Karakeena-Babbab[=o][=o]mas, squealed and frisked and\ngambolled in the last sunshine together, quarrelling and at play. The\nold men sat silent, munching with half-closed eyes, and watching them.\nAnd it seemed that the big shes of the Babbab[=o][=o]mas had brought\nsome small tufty, goatlike animals with them, which they now sat milking\ninto pots or gourds. And with this milk they presently fed the littlest\nof the young ones.\n\nFor many hours after the sun had gone down the three brothers sat wide\nawake, whispering together, listening to the talk and palaver of the\nchiefs of the Babbab[=o][=o]mas. Sometimes they seemed to be clamouring,\nfifty together; and then presently a great still voice would be lifted\nover them, and all would fall silent; while of its calm authority the\nmaster-voice said, \"So shall it be,\" or \"Thus do we make it.\" Then once\nmore the clamour of the rabble would break out again. But what its\nmeaning was, and whether they were merely gossiping together, or\nquarrelling, or holding consultation, or whether it was that the loud\nvoice gave law and justice to the rest, Nod tried in vain to discover.\nSo at last, though much against his brothers' counsel, very curious to\nsee what could occasion all this talk, he crept gradually, boulder by\nboulder, nearer to their great rocky bivouac. And there, by the silvery\nlustre of a dying moon, he peeped and peered. But though he plainly saw\nagainst the whiteness the pacing sentinels, and others of the\nBabbab[=o][=o]mas, huddling by families close for warmth in sleep\nbeneath the rocks, he could not discover where their parliament or\ntalkers were assembled. But still he heard them gabbling, and still,\never and anon, the great harsh voice sounding above all until at last\nthis, too, ceased, and save for the befrosted watchmen, the whole\ninnumerable horde of them lay--with the peaks of Arakkaboa to north of\nthem, and Sulemn[=a]gar to south--in that still dying moonlight fast\nasleep. Then he, too, scuffled softly back by the way he had come.\n\nBy morning (for the Babbab[=o][=o]mas are on the march before daybreak),\nwhen the brothers awoke, cold and cramped, in their rocky cavern, the\nwhole concourse was gone, and not a sign left of them except their\nscattered shells and husks, their innumerable footprints, and the stones\nthey had rooted up in search of whatever small creeping food might lurk\nbeneath. Else they seemed a dream--Meermuts of the moonlight!\n\nBy noon of next day the travellers approached the mountain-slopes. They\ncrossed down into a valley, and now the farther they went the steeper\nrose the bare, snow-flecked mountain-side, and beyond and around them\nloftier heights yet, while in the midst spired into the midday Kush, the\nfirst of the seven of the sacred peaks of Tishnar. Ever and again they\nwere startled by the sudden crash of the snow sweeping in long-drawn\navalanches from the steeps of the hills. And though it was desolate to\nsee those towering and unfriendly mountains, their snowy precipices and\ndazzling peaks, yet their hearts came back to them, for a warm wind was\nblowing through the valley, and they knew the white and cold of the snow\nwould soon be over, and the forest be green again, and once more would\ncome the flowering of the fruit-trees, and the ripening of the nuts.\n\nBut here it was that a bitter quarrel began between the brothers that\nmight have ended in not one of them ever seeing Tishnar's Valleys alive.\nIt was like this: Not knowing in which direction to be going in order to\nseek for a path or pass whereby to scale Arakkaboa, they were at a loss\nwhat to be doing. Even the Munza-mulgars detest being more than the\nheight of the loftiest forest-tree above their shadows on the ground;\nmore especially, therefore, did these Mulla-mulgars, who never, or very\nrarely, as I have said many times already, climb trees at all. So they\ndetermined to stay awhile here and rest and eat until some Mulgar should\ncome along of whom they could ask the way. It was a valley rich with\nthe sweet ground-fruit I have already mentioned, whose spikes of a faint\nand thorny blue mount just above the snow, and whose berries, owing to\ntheir sugary coats or pods, resist all coldness. So that, without\nmention of Ukka-nuts, of which a grove grew not far beyond the bend of\nthe valley, the travellers had plenty to eat. They had also an abundance\nof water, because of a little torrent that came roaring through its ice\nnear by the trees they had chosen for their lodging. The wind that\nsoftly blew along this low land was warmer, or, at least, not so keen\nand fitful as the forest wind, and they were by now growing accustomed\nto the cold. For the night, however, they raised up for themselves a\nkind of leaning shelter, or huddle, of branches to be moved against the\nwind according as it blew up or down the valley.\n\nBut idleness leads to mischief. And not to press on is to be sliding\nbackward. And to wait for help is to let help limp out of sight. And\novercome, perhaps, by the luscious fruit, of which they ate far too much\nand far too often, and growing sluggardly with sleep, the travellers\nsoon went on to bickering and scuffling together. With all this food,\ntoo, and long sleep and idleness, their courage began to droop. And if\nthey heard any sound of living thing, even so much as a call or\ncrackling branch, they would sneak off and hide in their night-shelter,\nnot caring now for any kind of boldness nor to think of venturing over\nthese homeless mountains.\n\nSo it came about that one night, as they were sleeping together under\ntheir huddle, as was their custom, Thumb, who had been nibbling fruit\nnearly all day long, cried out in a loud and terrible voice in his\nsleep, till Thimble, half awakened by his raving, picked up his thick\ncudgel and laid it soundly across his brother's shoulders where he lay.\nThumb started up out of his sleep, and in an instant the two brothers\nwere up and at each other, wrestling and kicking, gnashing their teeth,\nand guzzling through their throats and noses like mere Gungas,\nMullabruks, or Manquabees. Poor Nod, not knowing what was the cause of\nall the trouble, got a much worse drubbing than either, till at last, in\ntheir furious struggling, all three brothers rolled from under the\nwattles into the pale glimmering of the stars and snow. For in this\nvalley after the sun goes moves a phantom light or phosphorescence over\nthe snow. Brought suddenly to their senses by the chill dark air, the\ntravellers sat dimly glaring one at another, hunched, bruised, and\nbreathless. And Nod, seeing his brothers so enraged, and preparing to\nfight again, and having had half his senses battered out by their rough\nusage, asked what was amiss.\n\n\"Ask him, ask him!\" broke out Thimble, \"the fat and stupid, who deafens\nthe whole forest with his gluttonous screams.\"\n\n\"'Glutton, glutton!'\" shouted Thumb. \"How many nights, my brother\nUmmanodda, have we lain awake comforting one another that this dismal\ngrasshopper has only one nose to snore through! I'll teach you,\ngraffalegs, to break my ribs with a cudgel! Wait till a blink of morning\ncomes! Oh, grammousie, to think I have put up with such a Mullabruk so\nlong!\" He lifted a frozen hunch of snow and flung it full in Thimble's\nface, and soon once more they were scuffling and struggling, cuffing and\nkicking in the silence that lay like a cloak upon all the sacred\nValleys of Tishnar. They fought till, broken in wind and strength, they\ncould fight no more. And Nod was kept busy all the rest of the darkness\nof that night mending the wounds of, and trying to make peace with, now\none brother, now the other.\n\nAs soon as daybreak began to stir between the hills, Thumb and Thimble\nrose up together, and without a word, with puffed and sullen faces, went\noff on their fours and began gathering a good store of fruit and\nUkka-nuts, each very cautious of approaching too near the other in his\nsearch. Nod skipped drearily from one to the other, pleading with them\nto be friends. But he got only hard words for his pains, and even at\nlast was accused by both of them of stirring up a quarrel between them\nfor his own pride and pleasure. He edged sadly back to the huddle, and\nsat gloomily watching them, wondering what next they would be at. He was\nsoon to know, for first Thimble came back to him where he sat beside\ntheir night-hut and bade him help tie up his bundle.\n\n\"Where are you going to, Thimble?\" said Nod. \"O Thimble, think a little\nfirst! All these days we have journeyed in peace together. What would\nour father, Royal Seelem, say to see us now fighting and quarrelling\nlike Mullabruks, and all because you cudgelled Thumb in his sleep?\"\n\n\"In his sleep!\" screamed Thimble. \"Tell that to your flesh-eating\nOomgar, Prince of Bonfires! How could he be asleep, when he was\nsquealing like a B[=o][=o]bab full of parakeets? I go back--back _now_.\nWho can climb mountains with a fat hulk who takes two breaths to an\nUkka-nut? Come, if you dare! But I care not, whether or no.\" And with\nthat, catching up bundle and cudgel, with a last black look over his\nshoulder at Thumb, Thimble started off down the valley towards the\nforest they had so bravely left behind.\n\nNot a moment had he been gone when Thumb came limping and waddling back\nto the shelter, loaded with nuts and berries.\n\n\"Sit here and sulk, if you like, Nizza-neela,\" he growled angrily. \"Come\nwith me, or traipse back with that scatterbrains. Whichever you please,\nI care not. I am sick of the glutton that eats all day and cannot sleep\nof nights for thinking of his supper.\"\n\n\"How can I go with you,\" said Nod bitterly, \"when I would not go with\nThimble? O Mulla-mulgar Thumb, you who are the eldest and strongest and\nwisest of us, be now the best, too! Hasten after Thimble, and bring him\nback to be friends. How can we show our faces to our Uncle Assasimmon,\neven if we get over these dreadful mountains, saying we wrangled and\ngandered all one cold night together simply because you screamed out\nwith fear in your sleep?\"\n\n\"Thumb scream! Thumb afraid! Thumb sweat after Lean-legs! If you had not\nbeen my mother's youngest son, Ummanodda, you should never open that\nimpudent mouth again!\" And with that, off went Thumb, too, not caring\nwhither, so long as it led him farthest away from Thimble.\n\nNow, not to make too much ado about this precious quarrel, this is what\nbefell the travellers: Thimble, face towards Munza, trotted--one, two,\nthree; one, two, three--stonily on. But in a while solitude began to\ngather about him, and the cold after the heat of the fight struck chill\nand woke again his lazy senses. He sat down to wrap up his bruises,\nwondering where to be going, what to be doing. The Oomgar, the Nameless,\nthe Minimuls, the River, the Gunga--even if, he thought, he should\nescape again all the dangers they had so narrowly but just come through\ntogether, what lay at the end of it all? A little blackened heap of\nashes, the mockery of Munza-mulgar, and his mother's speechless and\nsorrowful ghost. What's more, while he sat idly nibbling his nuts, for\nhis tongue had suddenly wearied of the luscious ground-fruit, he saw\nmoving between the rocks no sweeter company than a she-leopard gazing\ngrinningly on him where he sat beneath his rock.\n\nNow, these leopards, made cunning by experience, and knowing that a\nMulla-mulgar will fight long and bravely for his life, if, when they are\nhunting alone, they spy out such a one alone, too, they trot softly back\nuntil they meet with another of their kind. Then, with purring and\nclashing of whiskers, they come to a sworn and friendly understanding\ntogether, sharing out their supper-meat before they have so much as\nsharpened their claws. Then at nightfall both go hunting their prey in\nharmony together. Thimble well knew this crafty and evil practice, and\nwhen dusk fell, he listened and watched without stirring. And soon, over\nthe snow, he heard the faint mewings and coughings of his enemies, both\nshes, of wonderful clear, dark Roses, coming on as thievishly and as\nsoftly towards him as a cat in search of her kittens. So he tore off a\nlittle strip of his tattered red jacket and laid it in the snow. Then\naway he scuttled till he must needs pause to breathe himself beneath a\nfarther rock.\n\nMeanwhile the ravenous huntresses, having come to the strip of\nMulgar-scented rag, of their natures had to stop and sniff and to\ndisport themselves with that awhile, as if to smell a dinner cooking is\nto enjoy it more when cooked. This done, they once more set forward with\nsharper hunger along Thimble's track. Three times did Thimble so play\nwith them, and at the third appetizing rag the leopards, famished and\nover-eager, hardly paused at all over his keepsake, but came swiftly\ncoursing after him. And the first, that (of her own craft) was much the\nyounger and fleeter, soon out-distanced her hunting-mate, the which was\nexactly the reason of Thimble's trickery with his red flag. For when,\npanting and alone, the first Roses had got well ahead of the other,\nThimble dashed suddenly out upon her from a rock, and before she could\nbare her teeth, he had caught her forefoot between his grinding jaws and\nbitten it clean to the bone. It spoilt poor Roses' taste for supper,\nand, seeing now that her sister was past fighting, and only too eager to\nleave the Mulgar to his lone, her mate slunk off without more ado to her\nown lair, to feast on the morning's bones of a frost-bitten Mullabruk.\n\nBut Thimble, though he had worsted the leopards, hadn't much liking or\nstomach for nights as wild as this. Thumb's nightmares were sweet peace\nto it. All the next day he wandered about, not heeding whither his\nfootsteps led him. And so it came about that just before evening he\nstumbled upon the very same valley he had left in his sulks the morning\nbefore. There, indeed, sat Nod, fast asleep in the evening light for\nsheer weariness of watching for his brothers, who, some faint hope had\ntold him, would return.\n\nAs for Thumb, after limping on up the valley a little more than a\nleague, he soon grew ashamed and sick at heart at having so easily\nbecome a silly child again. He sat down under a great boulder, humped\nround with ants' nests, too desolate to go on, too proud to turn back.\nAll that day and the next he sat moodily watching these never-idle\nlittle creatures, that, afraid of nothing, are feared of all. They had\ntunnelled and walled, and wherever sunbeams fell had cast back the snow\nthat hung above the galleries. And all day long they kept going and\ncoming, carrying syrup and eggs and meat, and all this with endless\npalaver of their waving horns, as if there were nothing else that side\nof Arakkaboa but the business of their city. Thumb alive they paid no\nheed to, but Thumb dead they would have picked to the bare bones before\nsunset.\n\nThe next evening Thumb's better head overcame him, and back he went to\nhis brothers, sitting miserable and forlorn in the new moonlight beneath\ntheir shelter. Nothing was said. They dared scarcely look into each\nother's faces awhile, until Thumb caught Nod's bright, anxious little\neyes glancing under his puckered forehead from brother to brother, in\nmortal fear they would soon be breaking out again. And Nod looked so\nqueer, and small, and anxious, and loving, and all these things so much\nat once, that Thumb burst out into a roar of laughter. And there they\nsat all three, rocking to and fro, holding their sides beneath the\ngigantic steeps of Arakkaboa, happy and at peace together again, while\ntears ran down their nose-troughs, with their shouts on shouts of\nlaughter.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\n\nNext day the travellers were about very early, combing and grooming\nthemselves in the dawn-mist for the first time these many days, and\nbefore the sun had shot his first colours across Arakkaboa, they had\neaten and drunk and set out from the valley of the languid and luscious\nfruits that had been the chief cause of all their folly.\n\nThey pushed up the valley, searching anxiously the hillsides for sign of\nany track or path by which they might ascend. The day was crisp and\ngolden with sunlight. And that evening they made their night-quarters\nbeside a vast frozen pool in a kind of cup of the overhanging cliffs.\nHere every word they said came hollowly back in echo.\n\nThey cried, \"Seelem!\" \"Seelem, Seelem!\" replied the mocking voices.\n\n\"Ummani n\u00e2ta? Still we go on?\" shouted Thumb hoarsely.\n\n\"N\u00e2ta, n\u00e2ta! On, on, on!\" sang echo hoarselier yet.\n\nWind had swept clean the glassy floor. In its black lustre gleamed the\nincreasing moon. And after dark had fallen, mists arose and trailed in\nmoonlit beauty across the granite escarpments of the hills. So that\nnight the travellers lay in a vast tent of lovely solitude, with only\nthe strange noises of the ice and the whisperings of the frost to tell\npoor wakeful Nod he was anything more than a little Mulgar in a dream.\n\nNext morning early they met one of those crack-brained M\u00f4h-mulgars that\nwander, eat, sleep, live, and die alone, having broken away from all\ntraffic and company with their friends and kinsmen. He wore about his\nneck a double-coiled necklet of little bones, and wound round his middle\na plait of Cullum. He was dirty, bowed, and matted, and his eyes were\nglazed as he lifted them into the sunlight in answer to Thumb's shout:\n\n\"Tell us, O M\u00f4h-mulgar, we beseech you, how shall three travellers to\nthe kingdom of Assasimmon find a pathway across these hills?\"\n\nThe M\u00f4h-mulgar lifted both gnarled hands above his head.\n\n\"Geguslar n[=o][=o]ma gulmeta m[=u]h!\" replied a thick, half-brutal\nvoice.\n\n\"What does he say?\" said Nod, wondering to see him wave his spotted arms\nas he wagged his crazy head.\n\n\"Well,\" says Thumb, \"what he says is this: 'Death's at the end of _all_\npaths.'\"\n\nThimble coughed. \"So it is,\" he said solemnly.\n\n\"Ay,\" said Thumb; \"but what _I_ was asking was the longest way round....\nA track, a path to the beautiful Valleys of Tishnar,\" he shouted across\nto the solitary M\u00f4h-mulgar. Sorrowfully he waved his bony arms about\nhis head, and stooped again. \"Geguslar, n[=o][=o]ma gulmeta m[=u]h!\"\ncame back his dismal answer.\n\nThimble, with a sign to him, laid gravely down a little heap of nuts in\nthe snow. And the three travellers left the old pilgrim still standing\ndesolate and unquestionable in the snow, watching them till they were\ngone out of sight.\n\nComing presently after to some trees with tough, straight branches, the\ntravellers made themselves fresh cudgels. After which, to raise their\nfallen spirits, they played hop-pole awhile in the sunshine, just as\nthey used to in the first days of the snow before they set out on their\ntravels. And about noon, when the sun stood radiant above them, they met\nthree Men of the Mountains, with shallow baskets on their heads, coming\ndown to gather Ukka-nuts in the valley. These Mulgars have long silken,\nblack-and-white hair and very profuse whiskers. They are sad in face,\nwith pouting lips, have but the meanest of thumbs, and turn their toes\nin as they walk, one behind another, and sometimes in chains of a\nhundred together. Thumb stood in their path, and inquired of the first\nof them, as before, which way they must follow to cross the mountains.\n\nThe voice of the Man of the Mountains who answered them was so high and\nweak Nod could scarcely hear his whisper. \"There is no way over,\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"But over we must go,\" said Thumb.\n\nThe other shook his head, and looked sadder than ever. And on they all\nthree went again, lisping softly together, but without another word to\nThumb.\n\n\"What's to be done now?\" said Nod.\n\n\"Where they came down, we can go up,\" said Thumb.\n\nSo, the Men of the Mountains being now hidden from sight by the rocks\nbelow, Thumb and his brothers turned up the narrow track between great\nboulders of stone, by which they had come down. And glad they were of\nthe new staves or cudgels they had broken off. Even with the help of\nthese, so steep was the path that they had often to pull themselves up\nby roots and jutting rocks. And gradually, besides being steep, the way\ngrew so narrow that they were simply walking on a ledge of rock not more\nthan two Mulgar paces wide. And for giddiness Nod nearly fell flat when\nby chance he turned his eyes and looked down to where, far below, a\nfrozen torrent gleamed faintly amid huge boulders that looked from this\nheight no bigger than pebble-stones.\n\nIt made him giddy even to keep his eyes fixed on the narrowing path\nbefore him, and shuffle up, up, up.\n\nSuddenly, Thumb, who was wheezing and panting a few paces in front, came\nto a standstill.\n\n\"What is it, Thumb?\" said Nod.\n\n\"Why do you stop, Nod?\" said Thimble, who was last of all.\n\n\"Look, look!\" said Thumb.\n\nThey slowly raised their eyes, and not a hundred paces beyond them, on\nthe same narrow ledge of rock against the deep blue sky, came slowly\nwinding down thirty at least of these same meagre and hairy Men of the\nMountains, a few with long staves in their hands, and every one with his\nlong tufted tail over his shoulder and a round shallow basket on his\nhead. These Men of the Mountains have very weak eyes; and it was not\nuntil they were come close that they perceived the three travellers\nstanding on their mountain-path. The first stopped, then he that was\nnext, and so on, until they looked like a long black-and-white\ncaterpillar, clinging to the precipice, with tiny tufts waving in the\nair.\n\nThumb raised his hand as if in peace. \"We are, sirs, strangers to these\nrocks and hills. After the shade of Munza, our eyes dizzy with the\nheights. And we walk, journeying to the Courts of Assasimmon, in great\ndanger of falling. How, then, shall we pass by?\"\n\nThey heard a faint, shrill whispering all along the hairy row. Then the\nfirst of the Men of the Mountains came quite close, and told the three\nbrothers to lie down flat on their faces, and he and his thirty would\nall walk gently over them. \"But to go on has no end,\" he said, \"and the\ntravellers had better far turn back.\"\n\nAt this Thumb grew angry. \"What does the old grey-beard mean?\" he\ncoughed out of the corner of his mouth. \"Mulla-mulgars stoop on their\nfaces to no one. Do you lie down on yours.\"\n\nThe old Mountain-mulgar blinked. \"We are thirty; you are three,\" he\nsaid. Thumb laughed.\n\n\"We are strangers to Arakkaboa, O Man of the Mountains. And we fear to\nlie down, lest we never rise up again.\" At this civil speech the old\nMulgar went shuffling back to the others.\n\nAnd, to Nod's astonishment, he presently saw him take his long staff of\ntough, sinewy wood, and thrust it into a little crevice of the rock,\neven with the path, so that about a third of its length overhung the\nprecipice. Meanwhile, another of these Mountain-mulgars had in the same\nway thrust his staff into the rock a little farther down. The first Man\nof the Mountains, who was, perhaps by half a span, taller than the rest,\ntook firm hold of the end of his staff with his long-fingered but almost\nthumbless hands, and lightly swung himself down over the precipice. The\nnext scrambled down over his shoulders until he swung by his leader's\nheels; the next followed, and so on. Three such Mulgar strings presently\nhung down from their staves over the abyss. And there being thirty Men\nof the Mountains in all, each string consisted of ten. [For this reason\nsome call these Mountain-mulgars Caterpillar or Ladder Mulgars.]\n\nWhen they were all thus quietly dangling, their leader bade Thumb\nadvance. Stepping warily over the little heaps of baskets, this the\nbrothers did. But as Nod passed each string in turn, and saw it swinging\nsoftly over the sheer precipice, and all the ten faces with pale eyes\nblinking sadly up at him out of their fluff of hair, he thought he\nshould certainly be toppled over and dashed to pieces. At last, however,\nall three were safely passed by. But the rocky ledge was here so narrow\nthat Thimble could not even turn himself about to thank the\nMountain-mulgars for their courtesy, nor to watch them climb back one by\none to their mountain-path again.\n\nOn and on, up, ever up, climbed the ribbon-like path winding about the\ngranite flanks of Kush. Once Nod lifted up his face, and saw in one\nswift glimpse the glittering peaks and crest of the mountains rising in\nbeauty, crowned with snow, out of the vast sun-shafted precipices. He\nhastily shut his eyes, and his knees trembled. But there could be no\nturning back now. He followed on close behind his fat, panting brother,\nuntil suddenly Thumb leapt back to a standstill, shouting in a voice of\nfear: \"O ho, ho! Illa ulla, illa ulla! O ho, ho!\"\n\n\"O Thumb, why do you call 'ho!' like that?\" said Nod anxiously.\n\n\"Back, back!\" Thumb cried; \"du steepa datz.\"\n\nNod stooped low on the smooth rock, and under the tatters of Thumb's\nmetal-hooked coat stared out between his brother's bandy legs. He simply\nlooked out of that hairy window straight into the empty air. They stood\nlike peering cormorants at the cliff's edge. The path had come to an\nend.\n\nThumb whined softly and coughed, and a faint steam rose up from his\nbody. \"We must go back,\" he barked huskily.\n\n\"Yes, brother,\" said Thimble softly; \"but I cannot go back. If I turn,\ndown I go. But if you two can turn, down go will I.\"\n\n\"Tishnar, O Tishnar,\" cried Nod in terror, \"the hills are dancing.\"\n\n\"Softly, softly, child!\" said Thumb. \"It is only your giddy eyes\nrolling. What's more,\" he said, pretending to laugh, \"those old hairy\nMen of the Mountains, even if only Meermuts, _must_ have come from\nsomewhere. Where they came from we can go to. O and Ah\u00f4h!\" he called.\n\n\"Why do you call 'Ah\u00f4h!' Thumb?\" whispered Nod, with tight-shut eyes.\n\n\"Both together, Thimbulla,\" muttered Thumb. \"Ah\u00f4h, ah\u00f4h, ah\u00f4h!\" they\nbawled.\n\nTheir voices sounded small and far-away. Only a bird screamed in answer\nfrom the chasm beneath. The sun blazed shadowlessly over the peak of\nKush upon the three Mulgars, standing motionless, pressed close against\nthe steaming rock. To Nod the minutes crawled like hours, while he\ncrouched sick and trembling, clutching Thumb's rags to keep him from\nfalling.\n\n\"Thimble, my brother,\" at last called Thumb softly, \"could you, if\nlittle Nod twisted himself round, straddle your legs enough to let him\ncreep through? We old gluttonous fellows were never meant for\nmountain-climbing. And standing here over the great misty pot----\" But\njust then it seemed to Thumb he felt, light as the wind, something\nsoftly pluck at his wool hat. Very, very slowly, and without a word, he\nlifted his head and looked up--looked straight up into the sorrowful\nhairy face of a Man of the Mountains dangling, the last of a long chain,\nfrom a rocky parapet above.\n\n\"Why?\" says Thumb, looking into his face. \"What then?\"\n\n\"Up, up!\" said he, in a thin, lisping Munza-tongue, making a step or\nloop of his long fringed arms.\n\nThis, then, was the stairs or ladder on which the travellers must climb\ninto safety. But Thumb could barely touch him with the tips of his\nfingers. He stood in doubt, staring up. And presently down that living\nrope of Mulgars yet another Man of the Mountains softly descended, and\nhis arms just reached Thumb's elbows.\n\n\"Tread gently, Mulla-mulgar,\" said this last, with a doleful smile. \"You\nare fat, and our ladder is slender.\"\n\nThumb, with one white, doglike glance into the deeps, took firm hold,\nand slowly, heavily, he climbed on from trembling Mulgar to trembling\nMulgar till at length he reached the top.\n\n\"Now, Nizza-neela,\" said the last Man of the Mountains, \"it is your\nturn.\" Up clambered Nod after Thumb, groping carefully with the palms of\nhis feet from hairy loop to loop. But he was glad that the Men of the\nMountains, as their custom generally is, dangled with their faces to the\nrock, and could not see into his eyes.\n\nAt last all three were safely up, and found themselves on a wide,\nsmooth, shelving ledge of the mountain, about fifty Mulgar paces wide,\nwith here and there a tree or tuft of grass, and to the right a cascade\nof ice, roped with icicles, streaming from the heights above. But what\nmost Nod blinked in wonder at were the small white mushroom houses of\nthese Mountain-mulgars. More than a hundred of them were here, standing\nlike snow-white beehives in the glare of the sun, each with its low\nround door, from which, here and there, a baby Mulgar, with short,\nfleecy, and cane-coloured whiskers, stood on its fours, peeping at the\nstrangers. When they were all three safely landed, one of the Men of the\nMountains led them between the beehive houses to a cool, shadowy cavern\nin the mountain-side. There he bade them sit down, while others brought\nthem a kind of thin, sour cheese and a mess of crushed and mouldy\nUkka-nuts. For these Arakkaboan Mulgars will not so much as look at a\nnut fresh and crisp; it must be green and furred to please their taste.\nAnd while the travellers sat nibbling a little meanly of the nuts and\ncheese, Thumb told the Men of the Mountains as best he could in the\nMunza tongue who they were, and why they were come wandering in\nArakkaboa.\n\nWhen Thumb in his talk made mention of the name of Tishnar, the\nMountain-mulgars that sat round them in a circle bobbed low, till the\nhair of their faces touched the cavern floor.\n\n\"The Valleys of Assasimmon lie far from here,\" said the first\nMountain-mulgar in a shrill, thin voice. \"And the Men of the Mountains\nwalk no mountain-paths beyond the peak of Zut; nor have we ever dangled\nour ropes into the Ummuz-groves of Tishnar. I do not even know the way\nthither. It would have been go thin and come back fat, O Mulla-mulgars,\nif I did. Rest and sleep now, travellers. We will bring you to the\nMulla-moona-mulgar [that is, Lord, or Captain] of Kush when he awakes\nfrom his 'glare.'\"\n\nThis \"glare,\" or \"shine,\" is the name of the Mountain-mulgars give to\nthe sleep they take in the middle of the day. Some little while before\n\"no-shadow,\" as they call it, or noonday, they creep into their mushroom\nhouses and sleep till evening begins to settle. So weak have their eyes\nbecome (or are, by nature) that they rarely venture out by day to go\nnut-gathering in the valleys. And often then, even, many go bandaged,\nkeeping touch merely with their tails. It was in the midst of this\nnoonday sleep or glare that the travellers had roused them with their\nhalloo. At evening they awake, and when the moon is clear their ladders\nmay be seen near and far drooping over the precipices. And they go\nwalking with soft, shambling steps from ledge to ledge. Even the least\nof them have no fear of any height. Their children of an evening will\nsit and eat their suppers, their spindle legs dangling over a depth so\nextreme that no Munza-mulgar could see to the bottom.\n\nLeft alone, the Mulla-mulgars, who had been climbing many hours now, and\nfelt stiff in legs and back, were glad to roll themselves over in the\nflealess sand of the cavern, and soon were all three asleep.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\n\nWhen Nod opened his eyes beneath the vast blue arch of the cavern, not a\nsign of the Men of the Mountains was to be seen. He sat for awhile\nwatching his brothers humped up in sleep on the floor, and wondering\nrather dismally when they should have done with their troubles and come\nto the palace of their Uncle Assasimmon. He was blained and footsore;\nhis small bones stuck out beneath his furry skin, his hands were cracked\nand scorched. And the keen high air of Arakkaboa made him gasp at every\nbreath.\n\nWhen Thumb awoke they sat quietly mumbling and talking together a while.\nBeyond the mouth of the cavern stood the beehive-houses of the\nMountain-mulgars, each in its splash of lengthening shadow. Day drew on\nto evening. An eagle squalled in space. Else all was still; no living\nthing stirred. For these Men of the Mountains have no need to keep\nwatch. They sleep secure in their white huts. None can come in, and\nnone go out but first they must let down their ladders. Thumb scrambled\nup, and he and Nod hobbled off softly together to where the cataract\nhung like a shrine of hoarfrost in pillars of green ice from the frozen\nsnows above. The evening was filled with light of the colour of a\nflower. Even the snow that capped the mountains was faintest violet and\nrose, and far in the distance, between the peaks of Zut and misty Solmi,\nstretched a band of darkest purple, above which the risen moon was\nriding in pale gold. And Nod knew that there, surely, must be Battle's\nSea. He pointed Thumb to it, and the two Mulgars stood, legs bandy,\nteeth shining, eyes fixed. Nod gazed on it bewitched, till it seemed he\nalmost saw the foam of its league-long billows rolling, and could catch\nin his thin round ear the roar and surge Battle had so often told him\nof. \"Oh\u00e9! if my Oomgar were but with me now!\" he thought. \"How would his\neyes stare to see his friend the sea!\"\n\nBut the Men of the Mountains were now bestirring themselves. They came\ncreeping, lean and hairy, out of their mushroom houses. Some fetched\nwater, some looped down over the brink by which the travellers had come\nup. Some clambered up into little dark horseshoe courts cut in the rock\nlike martins' holes in sand, and came down carrying sacks or suchlike\nout of their nut pantries and cheese-rooms. Some, too, of the elders sat\ncombing their long beards with a kind of teasel that grows in the\nvalleys, while their faint voices sounded in their gossiping like\nhundreds of grasshoppers in a meadow. Nod watched them curiously. Even\nthe faces of quite the puny Mountain-mulgars were sad, with round and\nfeeble eyes. And he couldn't help nudging Thumb to look at these tiny\ncreatures gravely combing their hairy chops--for all had whiskers, from\nthe brindled and grey, whose hair fell below their knees, to the mouse\nand cane coloured babies lying in basins or cradles of Ollaconda-bark,\nkicking their toes towards the brightening stars.\n\nThe moonlight dwelt in silver on every crag. And, like things so\nbeautiful that they seem of another world, towered the mountains around\nthem, clear as emeralds, and crowned with never-melting snow.\n\nThimble, when he awoke, was fevered and aching. The heights had made his\nhead dizzy, and the mountain cheese was sickly and faint. He lay at full\nlength, with wandering eyes, refusing to speak. So, when the Mulla-moona\nsent for the three travellers, only Thumb and Nod went together. He was\nold, thin-haired and thick-skinned, and rather fat with eating of\ncheese; he wore a great loose hat of leopard-skin on his head. And he\nlooked at them with his eyes wizened up as if they were creatures of no\naccount. And he asked one of the Mountain-mulgars who stood near, Who\nwere these strangers, and by whose leave they had come trespassing on\nthe hill-walks of the Mountain-mulgars. \"Munza is your country,\" he\nsaid. \"The leaves are never still with you, thieves and gluttons,\nsquealing and fighting and swinging by your tails!\"\n\nThumb opened his mouth at this. \"We are three, and you are many, Old Man\nof the Mountains,\" he barked, \"but keep a civil tongue with us, for all\nthat. We are neither thieves nor gluttons. We fight, oh yes, when it\npleases us. But having no tails, we do not swing by them. We are\nMulla-mulgars, my brothers and I, and we go to the kingdom of our\nfather's brother, Assasimmon, Prince of the Valleys of Tishnar. He is a\nPrince, O Mulla-moona, who has more slaves in his palace and more\nUkka-trees in the least of his seventy-seven gardens than your royal\nwhiskers have hairs! On, then, we go! But be not afraid,\nMulla-moona-mulgar. We will leave a few small stones of Arakkaboa behind\nus. But whether you will or whether you won't, on we go until the Harp\nsounds. Then our Meermuts will Tishnar welcome, and bid wander over\nthese her mountains, never hungry, never thirsty, never footsore, with\nsweet-smelling lanterns to light us, and striped Zevveras to carry us,\nand gongs to make music. But if we live, Chief Mulgar of Kush, we will\nremember your words, I and my brother Ummanodda Nizza-neela, for he\nshall breathe them into a little book in the Zbaffle Oomgar's tongue for\nPrince Assasimmon to mock at in his Ummuz-fields.\"\n\nNod listened in wonder to this palaver. Had he, then, been talking in\nhis sleep, that Thumb knew all about the Oomgar's little fat magic-book?\nThe old Mountain-mulgar sat solemnly blinking, fingering the tassel of\nhis long tail. He was a doleful and dirty fellow, and very sly.\n\n\"Why,\" he said at last, \"I did but speak Munza fashion. Scratch if you\nitch, traveller. Even an Utt can grow angry. As for writing my words in\nthe Oomgar's tongue, that is magic, and I understand it not. Rest in the\ncool of the shadow of Kush a little, and to-morrow my servants shall\nlead you as far across Arakkaboa as they know the way. But this I will\ntell you: Beyond Zut my paths go not.\" He raised his pale eyes softly.\n\"But then, Meermuts need no paths, Mulla-mulgars.\"\n\nThumb laughed. \"All in good time, Prince,\" he said, showing his teeth.\n\"I begin to get an itching for this Zut. We will rest only one day. The\nMulla-mulgar Thimbulla has a poor stomach for your green cheese. We will\njourney on to-morrow.\"\n\nThe Mulla-moona then called an old Mulgar who stood by, whose name was\nGhibba, and bade him take a rope (that is, about twenty) of the\nMountain-mulgars with him to show the travellers the secret \"walks\" and\npasses across their country to the border round Zut. \"After that,\" he\nsaid, turning sourly to Thumb, \"though your Meermuts were three hundred\nand not three, and your Uncle, King Assasimmon, had more palaces than\nthere are nuts on an Ukka-tree, I could help you no more. Sul\u00e2ni, O\nMulla-mulgars, and may Tishnar, before she scatters your bones, sweeten\nyour tempers!\"\n\nAnd at that the old Mountain-man curled his tail over his shoulder and\nshut his eyes.\n\nWhen Thumb and Nod came into the great cavern again to Thimble, they\nfound him helpless with pain and fever. He could not even lift his head\nfrom his green pillow. His eyes glowed in their bony hollows. And when\nThumb stooped over him he screamed, \"Gunga! Gunga!\" as if in fear.\n\nThumb turned and looked at Nod. \"We shall have to carry him, Ummanodda,\"\nhe said. \"If he eats any more of their mouldy nuts and cheese our\nbrother will die in these wild mountains. They must be sad stomachs that\nthrive on meat gone green with age. And now the physic is gone, and\nwhere shall we find more in these great hills of ice? We must carry\nhim--we must carry him, Nodnodda.\"\n\nThen Ghibba, who was standing near, understanding a little of what Thumb\nsaid, though he had spoken low in Mulgar-royal, called four of his\ntwenty. And together they made a kind of sling or hammock or pallet out\nof their strands of Cullum, and cushioned it with hair and moss. For\nonce every year these Mulgars shave all the hair off their bodies, and\nlie in chamber until it is grown again. By this means even the very old\nkeep sleek and clean. With this hair they make a kind of tippet, also\ncushions and bedding of all sorts. It is a curious custom, but each,\ngrowing up, follows his father, and so does not perceive its oddness.\nInto this litter, then, they laid Thimble, and lifted him on to their\nshoulders by ropes at the corners, plaited thick, so as not to chafe the\nbearers. Then, the others laden with great faggots of wood and torches,\nbags of nuts and cheese, and skin bottles of milk, they passed through\nan arch in the wall of the cavern, and the travellers set out once more.\nAll the Men of the Mountains came out with their little ones in the\nstarlight and torch-flare to see them go. Even the old chief squinnied\nsulkily out of his hut, and spat on the ground when they were gone.\n\nThe Mulgar-path on the farther side of this arch was so wide that here\nand there trees hung over it with frost-tasselled branches. And a rare\nsquabbling the little Mountain-owls made out of their holes in the rock\nto see the travellers' torches passing by. First walked six of the Men\nof the Mountains, two by two. Then came Thimble, tossing and gibbering\non his litter. Close behind the litter followed Ghibba, walking between\nThumb and Nod. And last, talking all together in their thin grasshopper\nvoices, the other ten Mountain-mulgars with more bags, more faggots, and\nmore burning torches. It was, as I have said, clear and starry weather.\nFar below them the valleys lay, their blackness fleeced with mist; high\nabove them glittered the quiet ravines of ice and snow. So cold had it\nfallen again, Nod huddled himself close in his sheep's-jacket, buzzing\nquiet songs while he waddled along with his stick. So all night they\nwalked without resting, except to change the litter-bearers.\n\nWhen dawn began to stir, they came to where the Mulgar-path widened\nawhile. Here many rock-conies dwelt that have, as it were, wings of skin\nwith which they leap as if they flew. And here the travellers doused\ntheir torches, set Thimble down, and made breakfast. While they all sat\neating together, on a narrow pass beneath them wound by another of the\nlong-haired companies of the Men of the Mountains. From upper path to\nlower was about fifteen Mulgars deep, for that is how they measure their\nheights. All these Mulgars were laden with a kind of fresh green seaweed\nheaped up on their shallow head-baskets, and were come three days'\njourney from the sea from fetching it. This seaweed they eat in their\nsoup, or raw, as a relish or salad. Perhaps they pit it against their\ncheese. Whether or no, its salt and refreshing savour rose up into the\nair as they walked. And Nod sniffed it gladly for simple friendship and\nmemory of his master Battle.\n\nBreakfast done, the snow-bobbins hopped down to pick up the crumbs.\nThese little tufty birds, of the size of a plump bull-finch, but pure\nwhite, with coral eyes, hop among the Mountain-mulgar troops wheresoever\nthey go, having a great fancy for their sour cheese-crumbs.\n\nThe Men of the Mountains then hung up on their rods or staves a kind of\nthick sheet or shadow-blanket, as they call it, woven of goats' wool and\nOllaconda-fibre, under which they all hid themselves from the glare of\nthe over-riding sun. Nod, too, and Thumb sat down in close shade beside\nThimble's litter, and slept fitfully, tired out with their night-march,\nbut anxious in the extreme for their brother.\n\nTowards about three, as we should say, or when the sun was three parts\nacross his bridge, having wound up their shadow-blankets and made all\nshipshape, the little company of grey and brown Mulgars set out once\nmore. Thimble, who had lain drowsy and panting, but quiet, during the\nday, now began to toss and rave as if in fear. His cries rang piercing\nand sorrowful against these stone walls, and even the hairy\nMountain-men, who carried him in such patience slung between them, grew\nat last weary of his clamour, and shook his litter when he cried out, as\nif, indeed, that might quiet him.\n\nNod stumped on for a long time in silence, listening to his brother's\nraving. \"O Thumb, what should we do,\" he broke out at last--\"what should\nwe do, you and me, if Thimble died?\"\n\nThumb grunted. \"Thimble will not die, little brother.\"\n\n\"But how can you know, Thumb? Or do you say it only to comfort me?\"\n\n\"I never could tell how I know, Ummanodda; but know I do, and there's an\nend.\"\n\n\"I suppose we shall get to Tishnar's Valleys--in time?\" said Nod, half\nto himself.\n\n\"The Nizza-neela is downcast with long travel,\" said Ghibba.\n\n\"Ay,\" muttered Thumb, \"and being a Mulla-mulgar, he does not show it.\"\n\nNod turned his head away, blinked softly, shrugged up his jacket, but\nmade no answer. And Thumb, in his kindness, and perhaps to ease his own\nspirits, too, broke out in his great seesaw voice into the Mulgar\njourney-song. High above the squabbling of the little Mountain-owls,\nhigh above the remote thunder of the surging waters in the ravine, into\nthe clear air they raised their hoarse voices together:\n\n    \"In Munza a Mulgar once lived alone,\n     And his name it was Dubbuldideery, O;\n     With none to love him, and loved by none,\n     His hard old heart it grew weary, O,\n         Weary, O weary, O weary.\n\n    \"So he up with his cudgel, he on with his bag\n     Of Manaka, Ukkas, and Keeri, O;\n     To seek for the waters of 'Old-Made-Young,'\n     Went marching old Dubbuldideery, O\n         Dubbuldi-dubbuldi-deery.\n\n    \"The sun rose up, and the sun sank down;\n     The moon she shone clear and cheery, O,\n     And the myriads of Munza they mocked and mopped\n     And mobbed old Dubbuldideery, O,\n         M\u00f4h Mulgar Dubbuldideery.\n\n    \"He cared not a hair of his head did he,\n     Not a hint of the hubbub did hear he, O,\n     For the roar of the waters of 'Old-Made-Young'\n     Kept calling of Dubbuldideery, O,\n         Call--calling of Dubbuldideery.\n\n    \"He came to the country of 'Catch Me and Eat Me'--\n     Not a fleck of a flicker did fear he, O,\n     For he knew in his heart they could never make mince-meat\n     Of tough old Dubbuldideery, O,\n         Rough, tough, gruff Dubbuldideery.\n\n    \"He waded the Ooze of Queen Better-Give-Up,\n     Dim, dank, dark, dismal, and dreary, O,\n     And, crunch! went a leg down a Cockadrill's throat,\n     'What's _one_?' said Dubbuldideery, O,\n         Undauntable Dubbuldideery.\n\n    \"He cut him an Ukka crutch, hobbled along,\n     Till Tishnar's sweet river came near he, O--\n     The wonderful waters of 'Old-Made-Young,'\n     A-shining for Dubbuldideery, O,\n         Wan, wizened old Dubbuldideery.\n\n    \"He drank, and he drank--and he drank--and he--drank:\n     No more was he old and weary, O,\n     But weak as a babby he fell in the river,\n     And drownded was Dubbuldideery, O,\n         Drown-ded was Dubbuldideery!\"\n\n    [Illustration: WITH STICKS AND STAVES AND FLARING TORCHES THEY\n    TURNED ON THE FIERCE BIRDS THAT CAME SWEEPING AND SWIRLING OUT\n    OF THE DARK.]\n\nIt was a long song, and it lasted a long time, and so many were the\nverses, that at last even the Men of the Mountains caught up the crazy\nMulgar drone and wheezily joined in, too. A very dismal music it was--so\ndismal, indeed, that many of the eagles who make their nests or eyries\nin the crevices and ledges of the topmost crags of Arakkaboa flew\nscreaming into the air, sweeping on their motionless wings between the\nstars over the echoing precipices.\n\nThe travellers had set to the last verse of the Journey-Song more\nlustily than ever, when of a sudden one of these eagles, crested, and\nbronze in the torchlight, swooped so close in its anger of the voices\nthat it swept off Thumb's wool hat. In his haste he heedlessly struck at\nthe shining bird with his staff or cudgel. Its scream rose sudden and\npiercing as it soared, dizzily wheeling in its anger, at evens with the\nglassy peak of Kush. Too late the Men of the Mountains cried out on\nThumb to beware. In an instant the night was astir, the air forked with\nwings. From every peak the eagles swooped upon the Mulgars. And soon the\ntravellers were fighting wildly to beat them off. They hastily laid poor\nThimble down in his sling and covered up his eyes from the tumult with a\nshadow-blanket. And with sticks and staves and flaring torches they\nturned on the fierce birds that came sweeping and swirling out of the\ndark upon them on bristling feathers, with ravening beaks and talons.\nBut against Thumb the eagles fought most angrily for his insult to their\nPrince, hovering with piercing battle-cry, their huge wings beating a\ndreadful wind upon his cowering head. Nod, while he himself was\nbuffeting, ducking and dodging, could hear Thumb breathing and coughing\nand raining blows with his great cudgel. The moon was now sliding\ntowards the mouth of Solmi's Valley, and her beams streamed aslant on\nthe hosts of the birds. Wherever Nod looked, the air was aflock with\neagles. His hand was torn and bleeding, a great piece of his\nsheep's-jacket had been plucked out, and still those moon-gilded wings\nswooped into the torchlight, beaks snapped almost in his face, and\ntalons clutched at him.\n\nSuddenly a scream rose shrill above all the din around him. For a moment\nthe birds hung hovering, and then Nod perceived one of the biggest of\nthe eagles struggling in mid-air with something stretched and wrestling\nupon its back. It was a Man of the Mountains floating there in space,\nwhile the maddened eagle rose and fell, and poised itself, and shook and\nbeat its wings, vainly striving to tear him off. And now many other of\nthe eagles wheeled off from the Mulgars and swept in frenzy to and fro\nover this struggling horse and rider, darting upon them, beating the\ndying Mulgar with their wings, screaming their war-song, until at last,\ngradually, lower and lower they all sank out of the moonlight into the\nshadow of the valley, and were lost to sight. The few birds that\nremained were soon beaten off. Five lay dead in their beautiful feathers\non the pass. And the breathless and bleeding Mulgars gathered together\non this narrow shelf of the precipice to bind up their wounds and rest\nand eat. But three of them were nowhere to be found. They made no\nanswer, though their friends called and called, again and again, in\ntheir shrill reedy voices. For one in fighting had stumbled and toppled\nover, torch in hand, from the path, one had been slit up by an eagle's\nclaw, and one had been carried off by the eagles.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\n\nAnd now that the moon was near her setting, dark grew the air. The Men\nof the Mountains had at last ceased to call their lost companions, and\non either side of the path were breaking up their faggots and building\nfires, leaving two wide spaces beneath the beetling rock for their\nencampment between the fires. Nod, sitting beside Thimble's litter,\nwatched them for some time, and presently he fancied he heard a distant\nhowling, not from the darkness below, but seemingly from the heights\nabove the Mulgar-pass. He rose and limped along to Ghibba, who was busy\nabout the fires. \"Why are you heaping up such large fires?\" he said,\n\"and whose, Man of the Mountains, are those howlings I heard from the\nmountain-tops?\"\n\nGhibba's face was scorched and bleeding; one of his long eyebrows was\nnearly torn off. \"The fires and the howls are cousins, little Mulgar,\"\nhe said. \"The screams of the golden-folk have roused the wolves, and if\nwe do not light big fires they will come down in packs along their\nsecret paths to devour us. It is a good thing to fight bravely, but it's\na better not to have to fight at all.\"\n\nNod came back and told this news to Thumb, who was sitting with a great\nstrip of his jacket bound round his head like a Turk's turban. \"It is\ngood news, brother,\" he said--\"it is good news. What stories we shall\nhave to tell when we are old!\"\n\n\"But two of the hairy ones are dead,\" said Nod, \"and one is slipping,\nthey say, from his second sleep.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Thumb, looking softly over the valley, \"they need fight no\nmore.\"\n\nNod sat down again beside Thimble's litter and touched his hand. It was\ndry and burning hot. He heard him gabbling, gabbling on and on to\nhimself, and every now and again he would start up and gaze fixedly into\nthe night. \"No, Thimble, no,\" Nod would say. \"Lie back, my brother. It\nis neither the Harp-strings nor our father's Zevveras; it is only the\nlittle mountain-wolves barking at the icicles.\"\n\nOn either side of their camping-place he heard yelp answering to yelp,\nand then a long-drawn howl far above his head. He began to think, too,\nhe could see, as it were, small green and golden marshlights wandering\nalong the little paths. And, watching them where he sat quietly on his\nheels in a little hollow of the rock, it brought back, as if this were\nbut a dream he was in, the twangle of Battle's Juddie, the restless\nfretting and howling of Imman\u00e2la's Jaccatrays. As the Moona-mulgar's\nfires mounted higher, great shadows sprang trembling up the mountains,\nand tongues of flame cast vague shafts of light across the shadowy\nabyss; while, stuck along the wall in sconces of the rock, a dozen\ntorches smoked.\n\nThumb grunted. \"They'd burn all Munza up with fires like these,\" he\nmuttered. \"Little wolves need only little fires.\" But Thumb did not know\nthe ferocity of these small mountain-wolves. They are meagre and\nwrinkle-faced, with prick ears and rather bushy tails. In winter they\ngrow themselves thick coats as white as snow, except upon their legs,\nwhich are short-haired and grey, with long tapping claws. And they are\nfearless and very cunning creatures. Nod could now see them plainly in\nthe nodding flamelight, couched on their haunches a few paces beyond the\nfires, and along the galleries above, with gleaming eyes, scores and\nscores of them. And now the eagles were returning to their eyries from\ntheir feasting in the valley, and though they swept up through the air\nmewing and peering, they dared not draw near to the great blaze of fire\nand torch, but screamed as they ascended, one to the other, until the\nwolves took up an answer, barking hard and short, or with long mournful\nululation.\n\nWhen at last they fell quiet, then the Men of the Mountains began\nwailing again for their lost comrades. They sit with their eyes shut,\nresting on their long narrow hands, their faces to the wall, and sing\nthrough their noses. First one takes up a high lamentable note, then\nanother, and so on, faster and faster, for all the world like a faint\nand distant wind in the hills, until all the voices clash together,\n\"Tish--naehr!\" Then, in a little, breaks out the shrillest in solo\nagain, and so they continue till they weary.\n\nNod listened, his face in his hands, but so faint and fast sang the\nvoices he could only catch here and there the words of their drone, if\nwords there were. He touched Thumb's shoulder. \"These hairy fellows are\nsinging of Tishnar!\" he said.\n\nThumb grunted, half asleep.\n\n\"Who taught them of Tishnar?\" Nod asked softly.\n\nThumb turned angrily over. \"Oh, child!\" he growled, \"will you never\nlearn wisdom? Sleep while you can, and let Thumb sleep too! To-morrow we\nmay be fighting again.\"\n\nBut though the Ladder-mulgars soon ceased to wail, and, except for two\nwho were left to keep watch and to feed the fires, laid themselves down\nto sleep, Nod could not rest. The mountains rose black and unutterably\nstill beneath the stars. Up their steep sides enormous shadows jigged\naround the fires. Sometimes an eagle squawked on high, nursing its\nwounds. And whether he turned this way or that way he still saw the\nlittle wolves huddled close together, their pointed heads laid on their\nlean paws, uneasily watching. And he longed for morning. For his heart\nlay like a stone in him in grief for his brother Thimble. A little dry\nsnow harboured in the crevices of the rocks. He filled his hands with\nit, and laid it on poor Thimble's head and moistened his lips. Then he\nwalked softly along past the sleeping Mulgars towards the fire.\n\nWhere should we all be now, he thought, if the eagles had come in the\nmorning? On paths narrow as those there was not even room enough to\nbrandish a cudgel. The fire-watcher raised his sad countenance and\npeered through his hair at Nod.\n\n\"What is it in your mouldy cheese, Man of the Mountains, that has\npoisoned my brother?\" said Nod.\n\nThe Mulgar shook his head. \"Maybe it is something in the Mulla-mulgar,\"\nhe answered. \"It is very good cheese.\"\n\n\"Will morning soon be here?\" said Nod, gazing into the fire.\n\nThe Mulgar smiled. \"When night is gone,\" he answered.\n\n\"Why do these mountain-wolves fear fire?\" asked Nod.\n\nThe Mulgar shook his head. \"Questions, royal traveller, are easier than\nanswers,\" he said. \"They _do_.\"\n\nHe caught up a firebrand, and threw it with all his strength beyond the\nfire. It fell sputtering on the ledge, and instantly there rose such a\nyelping and snarling the chasm re-echoed. Yet so brave are these\nsnow-wolves one presently came venturing pitapat, pitapat, along the\nfrosty gallery, and very warily, with the tip of his paw, poked and\npushed at it until the burning stick toppled and fell over, down, down,\ndown, down, till, a gliding spark, it vanished into the torrent below.\nThe Mountain-mulgar looked back over his shoulder at Nod, but said\nnothing.\n\nNod's eyes went wandering from head to head of the shadowy pack. \"Is it\nfar now to my uncle, Prince Assasimmon's? Is it far to the Valleys?\" he\nsaid in a while.\n\n\"Only to the other side of death,\" said the watchman. \"Come\nN[=o][=o]manossi, we shall walk no more.\"\n\n\"Do you mean, O Man of the Mountains,\" said Nod, catching his breath,\n\"that we shall never, never get there alive?\" The watchman hobbled over\nand threw an armful of wood on to the fire.\n\n\"'Never' shares a big bed with 'Once,' Mulla-mulgar,\" he said, raking\nthe embers together with a long forked stick. \"But we have no Magic.\"\n\nNod stared. Should he tell this dull Man of the Mountains to think no\nmore of death, seeing that _he_, Ummanodda himself, had magic? Should he\nlet him dazzle his eyes one little moment with his Wonderstone? He\nfumbled in the pocket of his sheep-skin coat, stopped, fumbled again.\nHis hair rose stiff on his scalp. He shivered, and then grew burning\nhot. He searched and searched again. The Mulgar eyed him sorrowfully.\n\"What ails you, O nephew of a great King?\" he said in his faint, high\nvoice. \"Fleas?\"\n\nNod stared at him with flaming eyes. He could not think nor speak. His\nWonderstone was gone. He turned, dropped on his fours, sidled\nnoiselessly back to Thimble's litter, and sat down.\n\nHow had he lost it? When? Where? And in a flash came back to his\noutwearied, aching head remembrance of how, in the height of the\neagle-fighting, there had come the plunge of a lean, gaping beak and the\nsudden rending of his coat. Vanished for ever was Tishnar's Wonderstone,\nthen. The Valleys faded, N[=o][=o]manossi drew near.\n\nHe sat there with chattering teeth, his little skull crouching in his\nwool, worn out with travel and sleeplessness, and the tears sprang\nscalding into his eyes. What would Thumb say now? he thought bitterly.\nWhat hope was left for Thimble? He dared not wake them, but stooped\nthere like a little bowed old man, utterly forlorn. And so sitting,\ncunning Sleep, out of the silence and darkness of Arakkaboa, came\nsoftly hovering above the troubled Nizza-neela; he fell into a shallow\nslumber. And in this witching slumber he dreamed a dream.\n\nHe dreamed it was time gone by, and that he was sitting on his log again\nwith his master, Battle, just as they used to sit, beside their fire.\nAnd the Oomgar had a great flat book covering his knees. Nod could see\nthe book marvellously clearly in his dream--a big book, white as a dried\npalm-leaf, that stretched across the sailor knee to knee. And the sailor\nwas holding a little stick in his hand, and teaching him, as he used in\na kind of sport to do, his own strange \"Ningllish\" tongue. Before,\nhowever, the sailor had taught the little Mulgar only in words, by\nsound, never in letters, by sight. But now in Nod's dream Battle was\npointing with his little prong, and the Mulgar saw a big straddle-legged\nblack thing in the book strutting all across the page.\n\n\"Now,\" said the Oomgar, and his voice sounded small but clear, \"what's\nthat, my son?\"\n\nBut Nod in his dream shook his head; he had never seen the strange shape\nbefore.\n\n\"Why, that's old 'A,' that is,\" said Battle; \"and what did old\nstraddle-legs 'A' go for to do? What did 'A' do, Nod Mulgar?\"\n\nAnd Nod thought a voice answered out of his own mouth and said: \"A ...\nYapple-pie.\"\n\n\"Brayvo!\" cried the Oomgar. And there, sure enough, filling plump the\ndog's-eared page, was a great dish something like a gourd cut in half,\nwith smoke floating up from a little hole in the middle.\n\n\"A--Apple-pie,\" repeated the sailor; \"and I wish we had him here,\nMaster Pongo. And now, what's this here?\" He turned the page.\n\nNod seemed in his dream to stand and to stare at the odd double-bellied\nshape, with its long straight back, but in vain. \"Bless ye, Nod Mulgar,\"\nsaid Battle in his dream, \"that's old Buzz-buzz; that's that old\ngarden-robber--that's 'B.'\"\n\n\"'B,'\" squealed Nod.\n\n\"And 'B'--he bit it,\" said Battle, clashing his small white teeth\ntogether and laughing, as he turned the page.\n\nNext in the dream-book came a curled black fish, sitting looped up on\nits tail. And that, the Oomgar told him, leaning forward in the\nfirelight, was \"C\"; that was \"C\"--crying, clawing, clutching, and\ncroaking for it.\n\nNod thought in his dream that he loved learning, and loved Battle\nteaching him, but that at the word \"croaking\" he looked up wondering\ninto the sailor's face, with a kind of waking stir in his mind. What was\nthis \"IT\"? What could this \"_IT_\" be--hidden in the puffed-out, smoking\npie that \"B\" bit, and \"C\" cried for, and swollen \"D\" dashed after? And\n... over went another crackling page.... The Oomgar's face seemed\nstrangely hairy in Nod's dream; no, not hairy--tufty, feathery; and so\nloud and shrill he screamed \"E,\" Nod all but woke up.\n\n\"'E,'\" squeaked Nod timidly after him.\n\n\"And what--what--what did 'E' do?\" screamed the Oomgar.\n\nBut now even in his dream Nod knew it was not the beloved face of his\nsailor Zbaffle, but an angry, keen-beaked, clamouring, swooping Eagle\nthat was asking him the question, \"'E,' 'E,' 'E'--what did 'E' do?\" And\nclipped in the corner of its beak dangled a thread, a shred of his\nsheep's-jacket. What ever, ever did \"E\" do? puzzled in vain poor Nod,\nwith that dreadful face glinting almost in touch with his.\n\n\"Dunce! Dunce!\" squalled the bird. \"'E' ate it....\"\n\n\"E ... ate it,\" seemed to be still faintly echoing on his ear in the\ndarkness when Nod found himself wide awake and bolt upright, his face\ncold and matted with sweat, yet with a heat and eagerness in his heart\nhe had never known before. He scrambled up and crept along in the rosy\nfirelight till he came to the five dead eagles. Their carcasses lay\nthere with frosty feathers and fast-sealed eyes. From one to another he\ncrept slowly, scarcely able to breathe, and turned the carcasses over.\nOver the last he stooped, and--a flock, a thread of sheep's wool dangled\nfrom its clenched black beak. Nod dragged it, stiff and frozen, nearer\nthe fire, and with his knife slit open the deep-black, shimmering neck,\nand there, wrapped damp and dingily in its scrap of Oomgar-paper, his\nfingers clutched the Wonderstone. He hastily wrapped it up, just as it\nwas, in the flock of wool, and thrust it deep into his other pocket, and\nwith trembling fingers buttoned the flap over it. Then he went softly\nback to his brothers, and slept in peace till morning.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\n\nWhen he awoke, bright day was on the mountains. The little snow-wolves\nhad slunk back to their holes and lairs. The fires burned low. And\nThimble lay in a sleep so quiet and profound it seemed to Nod the heart\nbeneath the sharp-ribbed chest was scarcely stirring. It was bitter cold\non these heights in the sunlessness of morning. And Nod was glad to sit\nhimself down beside one of the wood-fires to eat his breakfast of nuts,\nand swallow a suppet or two of the thawed Mulgar-milk. But the Men of\nthe Mountains had plucked and roasted the eagles, and were squatting,\nwith not quite such doleful faces as usual, picking with pointed, rather\ncatlike teeth, the bones.\n\nNod could not help watching them under his eyebrows, where they sat,\nwith tail-tufts over their shoulders, in their fleecy hair, blinking\nmildly from their pale pink eyes. For, though here and there may be seen\na Mountain-mulgar with eyes blue as the turquoise, by far the most of\nthem have pink, and some (but these are what the Oomgar-nuggas would\ncall Witch-doctors, or Fulbies) have one of either. They looked timid\nand feeble enough, these Moona-mulgars, yet with what fearless fury had\nthey fought with the eagles! How swiftly they shambled dim-sighted along\nthese wrinkled precipices! Some even now were seated on the rocky verge\nas easily as a Skeeto in its tree-top, their lean shanks dangling over.\nBut they nibbled and tugged at their slender bird-bones, and peered and\nwaved their long arms in faint talk; though, as their watchman had told\nNod in the firelight, they knew they were all within earshot of the\nHarp.\n\nGhibba was sitting a little away from the others, eating with his eyes\nshut.\n\n\"Are you so sleepy, Prince of the Mountains, that you keep your eyes\nshut in broad day?\" said Nod.\n\nGhibba wagged his head. \"No, Mulla-mulgar, I am not sleepy; but one eye\nis scorched with the fire and one a little angry with the eagles, so\nthat I can scarcely see at all.\"\n\n\"Not blind?\" said Nod.\n\nGhibba opened his eyes, red and glittering. \"Nay, twilight, not night,\nlittle Mulgar,\" he answered cheerfully. \"I see no more of you than a\nlittle brown cloud against black mountains.\"\n\n\"But how will you walk on these narrow, icy shelves?\" said Nod.\n\n\"Why,\" says he, \"I have a tail, Mulgar-royal; and my people must lead\nme.... What of the morning, Nizza-neela?\"\n\n\"It is bright as hoarfrost on the slopes and tops there,\" said Nod,\npointing. \"It dazzles Ummanodda's eyes to look. But the sun is behind\nthis huge black wall of ours, so here we sit cold in the shadow.\"\n\n\"Then we will wait,\" said Ghibba, \"till he come walking a little higher\nto melt the frost and drive away the last of the wolves.\"\n\n\"Man of the Mountains,\" said Nod presently, \"would you hold me if I\ncrept close and put my head over the edge? I would like to see how many\nMulgars-deep we walk.\"\n\nGhibba laughed. \"This path is but as other Mulgar-paths, Mulla-mulgar;\nno traveller need stumble twice. But I will do as you ask me.\"\n\nSo Nod lay down flat on his stomach, while two of the Mountain-mulgars\nclutched each a leg. He wriggled forward till head and shoulders hung\nbeyond the margent of the rock. He shut his eyes a moment against that\nterrific steep of air, and the huge shadow of the mountain upon the deep\nblue forest. All far beneath was still dark with night; only the frozen\nwaters of the swirling torrent palely reflected the daybreak sky. But\nsuddenly he shot out a lean brown paw. \"Ah\u00f4h, ah\u00f4h! I say!\"\n\nThe Men of the Mountains dragged him back so roughly that his broad snub\nnose was scraped on the stone. \"Why do you do that?\" he said angrily.\n\n\"You called 'O, O!' Mulla-mulgar, and we thought you were afraid.\"\n\n\"Afraid! Nod? No!\" said Nod. \"What is there to be afraid of?\"\n\nGhibba twitched his long grey eyebrow. \"The little Mulgar asks us\nriddles,\" he said.\n\n\"I called,\" said Nod, \"because I spy something jutting there with a\nfluff of hair in the wind that leaps the chasm, and with thin ends that\nlook to me like the arms and legs of a Man of the Mountains lying caught\nin a bush of Tummusc.\"\n\nAt the sound of Nod's \"Ah\u00f4h!\" Thumb had come scrambling along from the\nother fire, and many of the Mountain-mulgars fell flat on their faces,\nand leaned peering over the precipice. But their eyes were too dim to\npierce far. They broke into shrill, eager whisperings.\n\n\"It is, perhaps, a wisp of snow, an eagle's feather, or maybe a nosegay\nof frost-flowers.\"\n\n\"What was the name of him who fell fighting?\" said Nod eagerly.\n\n\"His name was Ubbookeera,\" said Ghibba.\n\n\"Then,\" said Nod, \"there he hangs.\"\n\n\"So be it, Eyes-of-an-Eagle,\" said Ghibba; \"we will go down before he\nmelts and fetch him up.\" So they drove two of their long staves into a\ncrevice of the rocks. And Ghibba, being one of the strongest of them,\nand also nearly blind, crept to the end and unwound himself down; then\none by one the rest of the Mountain-mulgars descended, till the last and\nleast was gone.\n\n\"Hold my legs, Thumb, my brother, that I may see what they're at,\" said\nNod. Thumb clutched him tight, and Nod edged on his stomach to the end\nof the bending pole. He saw far down the grey string of the Men of the\nMountains dangling, but even the last of them was still twenty or thirty\nMulgars off the Tummusc-bush. He heard their shrill chirping. And\npresently the first sunbeam trembled over the wall of the mountain above\nthem, and beamed clear into the valley. Nod wriggled back to Thumb.\n\"They cannot reach him,\" he said. \"He lies there huddled up, Thumb, in a\nTummusc-bush, just as he fell.\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" said Thumb, \"he must have hung dead all night. The eagles\nwill have picked his eyes out.\"\n\nIn a little while the last and least of the Mountain-mulgars crept back\nover Ghibba's shoulders and scrambled on to the path. He was a little\nblinking fellow, and in colour patched like damask.\n\n\"Is he dead? Is he dead? Is thy 'Messimut' dead?\" said Nod, leaning his\nhead.\n\n\"He is dead, Mulla-mulgar, or in his second sleep,\" he answered.\n\nNow, all the Mulgar beads on that strange string stood whispering and\nnodding together. Ghibba presently turned away from them, and began\nraking back the last smoulderings of their watch-fire.\n\n\"What will you do?\" said Nod. \"Why do you drag back the embers?\"\n\n\"The swiftest of us is going back to bring a longer 'rope' and stronger\nstaves and Samarak, and, alive or dead, they will drag him up. But we go\non, Mulla-mulgar.\"\n\n\"Oh\u00e9,\" said Nod softly; \"but will he not be melted by then, Prince of\nthe Mountains? Will not the eagle's feather be blown away? Will not the\nfrost flowers have melted from the bush?\"\n\nGhibba turned his grave, hairy face to Nod.\n\n\"The Men of the Mountains will remember you in their drones,\nMulla-mulgar, for saving the life of their kinsman; they will call you\nin their singing 'Mulla-mulgar Eengenares'\"--that is, Royal-mulgar with\nthe Eyes of an Eagle.\n\nNod laughed. \"Already am I in my brothers' thoughts Prince of Bonfires,\nNoddle of Pork; if only I could see through Zut, they also might call me\nEengenares, too.\"\n\nAll were in haste now, binding up what remained of faggots and torches,\ncombing and beating themselves and quenching the fires. Soon the Mulgar\nwho had been chosen to return had rubbed noses and bidden them all\nfarewell, and had set out on his lonely journey home. Thimble still lay\nin a deep sleep, and so cold after the heats of fever that they had to\nmuffle him twice or thrice in shadow-blankets to regain his warmth.\n\nWhen they had trudged on a league or so the day began to darken with\ncloud. And a thin smoke began to fume up from below. The travellers\npressed on in all haste, so fast that the tongues of the bearers of\nThimble's litter lolled between their teeth. Wind rose in scurries, and\nevery peak was shrouded. Unnatural gloom thickened around the lean,\nstraggling troop of Mulgars. And almost before they had time to drive in\ntheir long poles, as shepherds drive in posts for their wattles, and to\nswathe and bind themselves close into the sloping rock, the tempest\nbroke over them. A dense and tossing cloud of ice beat up on the wind,\nso that soon the huddled travellers looked like nothing else than a long\nlow mound on the Mulgar pass, heaped high with the drifting crystals. On\nevery peak and crest the lightning played blue and crackling. In its\nflash the air hung still, bewitched with snow-flakes. Thunder and wind\nmade such a clamour between them that Nod could scarcely hear himself\nthink. But the travellers sat mute and glum, and moved never a finger.\nSuch storms sweep like wild birds through these mountains of Arakkaboa,\nand, like birds, are as quickly flown away. For in a little while all\nwas peace again and silence. And the sun broke in flames out of the pale\nsky, shining in peaceful beauty upon the mountains, as if, indeed, the\nsnow-white Zevveras of Tishnar had passed by.\n\nThe travellers soon beat each other free of their snow, and danced and\nslapped themselves warm. And now they were rejoiced to see in the\ndistant clearness peeping above the shoulder of Makkri that league-long\nneedle Moot. The pass now began to widen, and a little before noonday\nthey broke out into a broad and steep declivity of snow. And, seeing\nthat they had but lately rested themselves, and soon would be journeying\nin shelter from the sun, they did not tarry for their \"glare,\" or\nmiddle-day sleep.\n\nTheir breath hung like smoke on the icy air. They sank at every step\nwellnigh up to their middles in snow, and were all but wearied out when\nat last they climbed up into a gorge cut sheer between bare walls of\nrock, and so lofty on either hand that daylight scarcely trembled down\nto them at the bottom.\n\nSo steep and glazed with ice was this gorge or gully that they were\ncompelled to tie themselves together with strands of Cullum. They laid\nThimble's litter on three long pieces of wood strapped together. Then,\nGhibba going foremost, one by one they followed the ascent after him,\nstumbling and staggering, and heaving at the Cullum-rope to drag up poor\nThimble on his slippery bed.\n\nThe Men of the Mountains have bristly feet and long, hairy, hard-nailed\ntoes. But Thumb and Nod, with their naked soles and shorter toes, could\nscarcely clutch the icy path at all, and fell so often they were soon\nstiff with bruises. Worse still, there frequents in the upper parts of\nthese mountains a kind of witless or silly Mulgars, who are called\nObobbomans, with very long noses. And just as men use a spyglass for\nsight, to magnify things and to bring things at a distance nearer, so\nthese Obobbomans use their prolonged noses for smell. Long before Thumb\nand his company were come to their precipitous gully they had sniffed\nthem out. And, being as mischievous as they are dull-witted, they had\nalready scampered about, gathering together great heaps of stones, and\nhad now set themselves in a row, sniffing and chattering, along the edge\nof the rock on both sides, and waited there concealed in ambush.\n\nWhen the Men of the Mountains had climbed up some little way into the\ngorge, and were scrambling and stumbling on the ice, these Obobbomans\nbegan pelting them as fast as they could with their stones and snowballs\nand splinters of ice. These missiles, though not very large, fell\nheavily down the walls of the precipice. And soon the whole caravan of\nMulgars was brought to a standstill, they were so battered and\nbewildered by the stones.\n\nAs soon as the travellers stopped, these knavish Long-noses ceased to\npelt them. So cautious and furtive are they that not a sign of them\ncould be distinguished by the Mulgars staring up from below, though,\nindeed, a hundred or more of their thin snouts were actually protruded\nover the sides of the chasm, sniffing and trembling.\n\n\"Does it always rain pebble-stones and lumps of ice in these miserable\nhills?\" said Thumb bitterly.\n\nAnd Ghibba told him that it was the Long-nose mulgars who were molesting\nthem. They squatted down to breathe themselves, hoping to tire out the\nObobbomans. But the instant they stirred, down showered snowball, ice,\nand stones once more. The travellers bound faggots and blankets over\ntheir heads, and struggled on, but the faggots kept slipping loose, and\ndid not cover their stooping backs and buttocks. They shouted,\nthreatened, shook their hands towards the heights; one or two even flung\npebbles up that only bounced down upon their own heads again. It was all\nin vain. They halted once more, and squatted down in despair. To add to\ntheir misery, it was so cold in this gorge that the breath of the\nHill-mulgars froze in long icicles on their beards, and whensoever they\nturned to speak to one another, or if they sneezed (as they often did in\nthe cold, and with the snuff-like ice-dust), their fringes tinkled like\nglass. At last Ghibba, who had been sitting lost in thought of what to\nbe doing next, suddenly groped his way forward, and bade two of his\npeople sit down to their firesticks to make fire.\n\n\"What is this Whisker-face tinkering at now?\" muttered Thumb. \"What is\nhe after now? We had best have come alone.\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said Nod; \"but if he can fight Noses, Thumb, as well as he\ncan fight Beaks, we shall soon be getting on again.\"\n\nThey crouched miserably in the snow, huddled up in shadow-blankets. The\nObobbomans peeped further into the ravine, chattering together, at a\nloss to understand why the travellers were sitting there so still. But\nat last fire came to the firesticks, and Ghibba then bade two or three\nof his Mountaineers kindle torches. Whereupon he gave to each a bundle\nof the eagle feathers which they had plucked from the five carcasses on\nthe pass, and told them to burn them piecemeal in their torches.\n\n\"Ghost of a M\u00f4h-man!\" grunted Thumb sourly; \"he has lost his cheesy\nwits!\"\n\nWith feathers fizzling, away they went again, slipping, staggering, and\nstraining at the rope. Down at once hailed the stones again, the\nObobbomans gambolling and squealing with delight in their silly\nmischief. And now no longer little were the snowballs, for the\nLong-noses all this time had been busy making big ones. These four or\nfive of them, shoving together, with noses laid sidelong, rolled slowly\nto the edge, and pushed over. Down they came, bounding and rebounding\ninto the abyss, and broke into fragments on the travellers' heads. Some,\ntoo, of the craftier of the Long-noses had mingled stones and ice in\nthese great balls.\n\nThumb groaned and sweated in spite of the cold, for he, being by far the\nfattest and broadest of the travellers, received the most stones, and\nstumbled and fell far more often than the rest on his clumsy feet on the\nice. Now, however, the smoke of the burning bunches of eagles' feathers\nwas mounting in pale blue clouds through the gorge. It was enough. At\nthe first sniff and savour of this evil smoke the Long-noses paused in\ntheir mischief, coughing and sneezing. At the next sniff they paused no\nlonger. Away they scampered headlong, higgledy-piggledy, toppling one\nover another in their haste to be gone, squealing with disgust and\nhorror; and the travellers at last were left in peace.\n\n\"I began to fear, O Man of the Mountains,\" grunted Thumb to Ghibba,\n\"that your wits had got frostbitten. But I am not too old nor fat to\nlearn wisdom.\"\n\nGhibba lifted his face and peered from under the bandage he had wound\nover his sore eyes into Thumb's bruised face. \"Munza or Mountains,\nthere's wisdom for all, brave traveller,\" he said. \"They are very old\nfriends of ours, these Long-noses; they could smell out a mouse's\nMeermut in the moon.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\n\nThe pass grew ever steeper, but now that the travellers were no longer\npestered by the Obobbomans they managed to struggle slowly on. And near\nabout sunset they had tugged their way to the top, and came out again\nupon the mountain-side. They spread out their blankets and threw\nthemselves down, panting, bruised, and outwearied. But they made no fire\nhere yet, because their wood was running short, and all that they had\nwould be needed against the small hours of the night. They nibbled at\ntheir blue cheese and a few cold eagle-bones, and, having cut one of\ntheir skin-bags to pieces, broke up the frozen milk and shared the lumps\nbetween them.\n\nThumb and Nod crouched down beside Thimble, who was now awake and in his\nown mind. And they told him all that had happened since his megrims had\ncome on. He was still weak and fretful, and turned his eyes hastily from\nsight of the mouldy cheese the Mountain-mulgars were nibbling. But he\nsucked a few old Ukka-nuts. Then they lifted him gently, and with an arm\nround Thumb's neck and a hand on Nod's shoulder, they walked him awhile\nquietly in the snow.\n\nWhile the brothers were thus walking friendly together, Ghibba groped\nhis way up to them.\n\n\"I come, Royal Travellers,\" he said, \"to tell you that here our country\nends. Zut lies now behind us. Yonder stretches the Shadow Country, and\nmy people know the way no farther.\"\n\nThe three brothers turned their heads to look, and on their cudgel-hand,\nabout two leagues distant, stood Solmi; to the west, and a little in\nfront of them, M[=o][=o]t and Makkri. Upon the topmost edge of the\nsnow-slope at the foot of which they were now encamped ran a long, low\nborder of a kind of thorn-bush, huddling among great rocks and boulders,\nresembling a little the valleys of the Babbab[=o][=o]mas.\n\n\"You mean, O Man of the Mountains, whose friendship has been our very\nlives to us,\" said Thumb, \"that now we must journey on alone?\"\n\n\"No, Mulla-mulgar; I mean only that here the Moona country, my people's\ncountry, ends, and therefore that I cannot now be certain of the way to\nthe Valleys of Tishnar. But this I do know: that beyond here is thick\nwith the snares of N[=o][=o]manossi. But if the Mulgar Princes and the\nNizza-neela Eengenares, who saved my kinsman's life, would have it so,\nand are not weary of our company, then I and my people will journey on\nwith them till they come to an end. We know from childhood these\ndesolate mountains. They are our home. We eat little, drink little, and\ncan starve as quietly as an icicle can freeze. If need be (and I do not\nboast, Mulla-mulgars), we Thin-shanks can march softly all day for many\ndays, and not fall by the way. We are, I think, merely Leather-men, not\nmeant for flesh and blood. But the Mulla-mulgars have fought with us,\nand we are friends. And I myself am friend to the last sleep of the\nsmall Prince, Nizza-neela, who has the colour of Tishnar in his eyes.\nShall it be farewell, Travellers? Or shall we journey on together?\"\n\nThe brothers looked at the black and thorn-set trees, at the towering\nrocks, at the wastes of the beautiful snows. They looked with\nastonishment at this old, half-blind mountaineer with his lean, sinewy\narms, and hill-bent legs, and his bandaged eyes. And Thumb lifted his\nhands in salutation to Ghibba, as if he were a Mulla-mulgar himself.\n\n\"Why should we lead you into strange dangers, O Man of the Mountains,\"\nhe grunted--\"maybe to death? But if you ask to come with us, if we have\nonly to choose, how can I and my brothers say no? We will at least be\nfriends who do not part while danger is near, and though we never reach\nthe Valley, Tishnar befriends the Meermuts of the brave. Let us, then,\ngo on together.\"\n\nSo Ghibba went back to his people, and told them what Thumb had said.\nAnd being now agreed together, they all hobbled off but three, who were\nleft to guard the bundles, to break and cut down wood, and to see if\nperhaps among the thorns grew any nut-trees. But they found none; and\nfor their pains were only scratched and stung by these waste-trees which\nbear a deadly poison in their long-hooked thorns. This poison, like the\nEnglish nettle, causes a terrible itch to follow wherever the thorns\nscratch. So that the travellers could get no peace from the stinging and\nitching except by continually rubbing the parts in snow wherever the\nthorns had entered.\n\nAnd Nod, while they were stick-gathering, kept close to Ghibba.\n\n\"Tell me, Prince of the Mountains,\" he said, \"what are these nets of\nN[=o][=o]manossi of which you spoke to my brother Thumb? What is there\nso much to fear?\"\n\nGhibba had sat himself down in the snow to pluck a thorn out of his\nfoot. \"I will tell the Prince a tale,\" he said, stooping over his\nbundle.\n\n\"Long time ago came to our mountains a Mulgar travelling alone. My\nkinsmen think oftener of him than any stranger else, because,\nMulla-mulgar, he taught us to make fire. He was wayworn and full of\ncourage, but he was very old. And he, too, was journeying to the Valleys\nof Tishnar. But he was, too, a silent Mulgar, never stirred his tongue\nunless in a kind of drone at evening, and told us little of himself\nexcept in sleep.\"\n\n\"What was he like?\" said Nod. \"Was he mean and little, like me, or tall\nand bony, like my brother Thimble, or fat, like the Mulla-mulgar, my\neldest brother, Thumb?\"\n\n\"He was,\" said Ghibba, \"none of these. He was betwixt and between. But\nhe wore a ragged red jacket, like those of the Mulgars, and on his\nwoman-hand stood no fourth finger.\"\n\n\"Was the little woman-finger newly gone, or oldly gone?\" said Nod.\n\n\"I was younger then, Nizza-neela, and looked close at everything. It\nwas newly gone. The stump was bald and pale red. He was, too, white in\nthe extreme, this old Mulgar travelling out of Munza. Every single hair\nhe carried had, as it were, been dipped in Tishnar's meal.\"\n\n\"I believe--oh, but I do believe,\" said Nod, \"this poor old traveller\nwas my father, the Mulla-mulgar Seelem, of the beautiful Valleys.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Ghibba, jerking his faggot on to his back, and turning\ntowards the camp, \"he was a happy Mulgar, for he has brave sons.\"\n\n\"Tell me more,\" said Nod. \"What did he talk about? Did he speak ever of\nUmmanodda? How long did he stay with the Mulla-moonas? Which way did he\ngo?\"\n\n\"Lead on, then,\" said Ghibba, peering under his bandage.\n\n\"Here go I,\" said Nod, touching his paw.\n\n\"He followed the mountain-paths with my own father,\" said Ghibba, \"and\nlived alone for many days in one of our Spanyards,[7] for he was worn\nout with travel, and nearly dead from lying down to drink out of a\nQuickkul-fish pool. But after five days, while he was still weak, he\nrose up at daybreak, crying out in Munza-mulgar he could remain with us\nno longer. So my people brought him, as I have brought you, to this\neverlasting snow-field, where he said farewell and journeyed on alone.\"\n\n    [7] I suppose, huts or burrowings.\n\n\"Had he a gun?\" said Nod.\n\n\"What is a gun, Nizza-neela?\"\n\n\"What then--what then?\" cried Nod impatiently.\n\n\"Two nights afterwards,\" continued the old Mulgar, \"some of my people\ncame up to the other end of the gorge of the Long-noses. There they\nfound him, cold and bleeding, in his second sleep. The Long-noses had\npelted him with stones till they were tired. But it was not their stones\nthat had driven him back. He would not answer when the Men of the\nMountains came whispering, but sat quite still, staring under his black\narches, as if afraid. After two days more he rose up again, crying out\nin another voice, like a M\u00f4h-mulgar. So we came again with him, two\n'ropes' of us, along the walks the traveller knows. And towards evening,\nwith his bag of nuts and water-bottle, in his rags of Juzana, he left us\nonce more. Next morning my father and my people came one or two together\nto where we sit, and--what did they see?\"\n\n\"_What_ did they see?\" Nod repeated, with frightened eyes.\n\n\"They did see only this,\" said Ghibba: \"footsteps--one-two, one-two,\njust as the Mulla-mulgar walks--all across the snow beyond the\nthorn-trees. But they did see also other footsteps, slipping, sliding,\nand here and there a mark as if the traveller had fallen in the snow,\nand all these coming _back_ from the thorn-trees. And at the beginning\nof the ice-path was a broken bundle of nuts strewn abroad, but uneaten,\nand the shreds of a red jacket. Water-bottle there was none, and Mulgar\nthere was none. We never saw or heard of that Mulgar again.\"\n\n\"O Man of the Mountains,\" cried Nod, \"where, then, is my father now?\"\n\nGhibba stooped down and peered under his bandage close into Nod's small\nface. \"I believe, Eengenares, your father--if that Mulgar was your\nfather--is happy and safe now in the Valleys of Tishnar.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Nod, \"he must have come back again out of his wits with fear\nof the Country of Shadows.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Ghibba, \"a brave Mulgar might come back once, twice, ten\ntimes; but while one foot would swing after the other, he might still\narise in the morning and try again. 'On, on,' he would say. 'It is\nbetter to die, going, than to live, come-back.'\"\n\nAnd Nod comforted himself a little with that. Perhaps he would yet meet\nhis father again, riding on Tishnar's leopard-bridled Zevveras;\nperhaps--and he twisted his little head over his shoulder--perhaps even\nnow his Meermut haunted near.\n\n\"But tell me--tell me _this_, Mountain-mulgar: What was the fear which\ndrove him back? What feet so light ran after him that they left no\nimprint in the snow? Whose shadow-hands tore his jacket to pieces?\"\n\nGhibba threw down his bundle of twigs, and rubbed his itching arms with\nsnow.\n\n\"That, Mulla-mulgar,\" he said, smiling crookedly, \"we shall soon find\nout for ourselves. If only I had the Wonderstone hung in my beard, I\nshould go singing.\"\n\nNod opened his mouth as if to speak, and shut it again. He stared hard\nat those bandaged eyes. He glanced across at the black, huddling\nthorn-trees; at the Mountain-mulgars, going and returning with their\nfaggots; at Thimble lying dozing in his litter. All the while betwixt\nfinger and thumb he squeezed and pinched his Wonderstone beneath the\nlappet of his pocket.\n\nShould he tell Ghibba? Should he wait? And while he was fretting in\ndoubt whether or no, there came a sharp, short yelp, and suddenly out of\nthe thorn-trees skipped a Mountain-mulgar, and came scampering\nhelter-skelter over the frozen snow, yelping and chattering as he ran.\nFollowing close behind him lumbered Thumb, who hobbled a little way,\nthen stopped and turned back, staring.\n\n\"Why do you dance in the snow, my poor child? What ails you?\" mocked\nGhibba, when the Mountain-mulgar had drawn near. \"Have you pricked your\nlittle toe?\"\n\nThe Mountain-mulgar cowered panting by the fire which Ghibba had\nkindled. And for a long while he made no answer. So Nod scrambled on his\nfours up the crusted slope of snow. He passed, as he went, two or three\nof the Men of the Mountains whimpering and whispering. But none of them\ncould tell him what they feared. At last he reached Thumb, who was still\nstanding, stooping in the snow, staring silently towards the clustering\nthorn-trees.\n\n\"What is it, brother?\" said Nod, as he came near. \"What is it, brother?\nWhy do you crouch and stare?\"\n\n\"Come close, Ummanodda,\" said Thumb. \"Tell me, is there anything I see?\"\nThey hobbled a little nearer, and stood stooping together with eyes\nfixed.\n\n    [Illustration: \"WHAT IS IT, BROTHER? WHY DO YOU CROUCH AND STARE?\"]\n\nThese thorn-trees, as dense as holly, but twisted and huddled, grew not\nclose together, but some few paces apart, as if they feared each other's\ncompany. Between them only purest snow lay, on which evening shed its\nlight. And now that the sun was setting, leaning his beams on them from\nbehind M[=o][=o]t, their gnarled and spiny branches were all aflame with\nscarlet. It was utterly still. Nod stood with wide-open eyes. And softly\nand suddenly, he hardly knew how or when, he found himself gazing into a\nface, quiet and lovely, and as it were of the beauty of the air. He\ncould not stir. He had no time to be afraid. They stood there, these\nclumsy Mulgars, so still that they might have been carved out of wood.\nYet, thought Nod afterwards, he was not afraid. He was only startled at\nseeing eyes so beautiful beneath hair faint as moonlight, between the\nthorn-trees, smiling out at him from the coloured light of sunset. Then,\njust as suddenly and as softly, the face was gone, vanished.\n\n\"Thumb, Thumb!\" he whispered, \"surely I have seen the eyes of a\nwandering Midden of Tishnar?\"\n\n\"Hst!\" said Thumb harshly; \"there, there!\" He pointed towards one of the\nthorn-trees. Every branch was quivering, every curved, speared leaf\ntrembling, as if a flock of silvery Parrakeetoes perched in the upper\nbranches, where there are no thorns, or as if scores of the tiny\nSpider-mulgars swung from twig to twig. The next moment it was\nstill--still as all the others that stood around, afire with the last\nsunbeams. Yet nothing had come, nothing gone.\n\n\"Acch magloona nani, Nod,\" called Thumb, afraid, \"lagoosla sul majeela!\"\n\nThey scuttled back, without once turning their heads, to the fire, where\nall the Hill-mulgars were sitting. Whispering together they were, too,\nas they nibbled their cheese and sipped slowly from their gurgling,\nnarrow-mouthed bags or bottles. They had carried Thimble close to the\nfire, and Ghibba was roasting nuts for him. Thumb and Nod came down and\nseated themselves beside Ghibba, but they had agreed together to say\nnothing of what they had seen, for fear of affrighting Thimble, who was\nstill weak in head and body, and continually shivering. And Nod told his\nbrothers all that Ghibba had told him concerning the solitary traveller.\nAnd Thumb sat listening, heavy and still, with his great face towards\nthe huddling thorns that wooded the height.\n\nSo they talked and talked, sitting together, round about their fire. The\ntwigs of these thorns burn marvellous clear with colours, and at each\nthorn-tip, as the flame licks near, wells out and gathers a milk-pale\nglobe of poison that, drying, bursts in the heat. So all the fire is\ncontinually a-crackle, amidst a thin smoke of a smell like nard. Never\nbefore had so bright a bonfire blazed upon these hills. For the Men of\nthe Mountains never camp beyond the pass, and the Long-noses have not\neven the wits to keep a fire fed with fuel. But as the day wore on, and\nwhen all the feather-smoke had dispersed, they assembled in hundreds\nupon hundreds, sitting a long distance off, all their noses stuck out\ntowards the blaze, snuffing the cloudy fragrance of the nard. But they\nwere too much afraid of the travellers to venture near now that they\nwere free men and out of the pass.\n\nThe sun had set, but the moon was at full, and the travellers determined\nto go forward at once. It was agreed that every one should carry a\nbundle of sticks on his shoulders, also a stout cudgel or staff; that\nthey should march close in rows of four, with Thimble's litter in their\nmidst; and that the Mulgar at each corner should carry a burning torch.\nThey made what haste they could to tie up their bundles, bottles, and\nfaggots, so as to lose nothing of the moon's brilliance during the long\nnight. She rode unclouded above the snow-fields when the little band of\nMulgar-travellers set out. As soon as they were gone, down trooped the\nlong-nosed Obobbomans to the fire, sniffing and scuffling, to fall\nasleep at last, higgledy-piggledy, in a great squirrel-coloured ring\naround the glowing embers, their noses towards the fire.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\n\nThe travellers marched slowly, keeping sharp watch, their cudgels ready\nin their hands. Behind them, paled by the moonlight, shook the fiery\nsilver of the Salemn[=a]gar. With this at their backs and that North\nPole, M[=o][=o]t, in huge congealment, a little to their left, they made\ntheir way at an angle across the open snow, and approached the tangled\nthickets. Here they walked more closely together, with heads aslant and\ntails in air, like little old men, like pedlars, blinking and spying,\nwishing beyond measure they were sitting in comfort around their\nwatch-fire. The farther they zigzagged betwixt the thorns, the more\ndoubtful grew the way. For the thorn-trees rise all so equal in height\nand thickness they often with their tops shut out the stars, and there\nwas nothing by which the travellers could mark what way they went.\n\nStill they pressed on, their hairy faces to the night-wind, which Ghibba\nhad observed before starting was drifting from the north. They shuffled\ncrisply over the snow, coughing softly, and gurring in their throats,\nwinding in and out between the trees, and casting lean, gigantic shadows\nacross the open spaces. For so dazzling bright the moon gleamed, she\nalmost put out the smoky flare of their torches. But it gave the Mulgars\nmore courage to march encompassed with their own light. Their packs were\nheavy, the thickets sloped continually upward. But the poison-thorns\ncurl backward beneath the drooping hood of their leaves by night--in the\nhours, that is, when, it is said, they distil their poison--so the\ntravellers were no longer fretted by their stings. Thus, then, they\ngradually advanced till M[=o][=o]t was left behind them, and out of the\ngrey night rose Mulgarmeerez, mightiest of Arakkaboa's peaks, whose\nsnows have known no Mulgar footprints since the world began.\n\nOnly the whish of the travellers' feet on the snow was to be heard, when\nsuddenly all with one accord stopped dead, as if a voice had cried,\n\"Halt!\"\n\nTheir torches faintly crackled, their smoke rising in four straight\npillars towards the stars. And they heard, as if everywhere around them\nin the air, clear yet marvellously small voices singing with a thin and\npining sound like glass. It floated near, this tiny, multitudinous\nmusic--so near that the travellers drew back their face with wide-open\neyes. Then it seemed out of the infinite distance to come, echoing\nacross the moonlit spars that towered above their heads.\n\nAnd Ghibba said softly, jerking up his bundle and peering around him\nfrom beneath his eye-bandage: \"Courage, my kinsmen! it is the\ndanger-song of Tishnar we hear, who loves the fearless.\"\n\nAt this one of the Men of the Mountains thrust up his pointed chin, and\nsaid, wagging his head: \"Why do we march like this at night,\nMulla-moona? These are not our mountain-passes. Let us camp here while\nwe are still alive, and burn a great watch-fire till morning.\"\n\n\"You have faggots, Cousin of a Skeeto,\" said Ghibba. \"Kindle a fire for\nyourself, and catch us up at daybreak.\"\n\nThe Mountain-men laughed wheezily, for now the singing had died away. On\nthey pushed again. But now the thorn-trees gathered yet closer together,\nso that the Mulgars could no longer walk in company, but had to straggle\nup by ones or twos as best they could. Still up and up they clambered,\nlaying hold of the thick tufts of leaves sticky with poison to drag\nthemselves forward. Many times they had to pause to recover their\nbreath, and Nod turned giddy to look down on the moon-dappled forest\nthrough which they had so heavily ascended. Thus they continued, until,\nquite without warning, Thumb, who was leading, broke out into one loud,\nhard, short bark of fear, for he suddenly found himself standing beneath\ncontorted branches on the verge of another and wider plateau of snow. He\nstood motionless, leaning heavily on his cudgel, the knuckles of his\nother hand resting in the snow, his breath caught back, and his head\nstooping forward between his shoulders, staring on and on between\nastonishment and fear.\n\n    [Illustration: FOR THERE ... STOOD AS IF FROZEN IN THE MOONLIGHT\n    THE MONSTROUS SILVER-HAIRED MEERMUTS OF MULGARMEEREZ, GUARDING\n    THE ENCHANTED ORCHARDS OF TISHNAR.]\n\nFor there, all along the opposite ridge, as it were on the margin of an\nenormous platter, stood as if frozen in the moonlight the monstrous\nsilver-haired Meermuts of Mulgarmeerez, guarding the enchanted orchards\nof Tishnar. Thumb stood in deep shadow, for instantly, at sight of these\nshapes, as one by one the travellers came straggling up together, they\nquenched their hissing torches in the snow. No sign made the Meermuts\nthat they had seen the little quaking band of lean and ragged Mulgars.\nBut even a squirrel cracking a nut could have been heard across these\nwindless and icy altitudes. And even now it seemed that bark of fear\nwent echoing from spur to spur. The wretched Mulgars could only stand\nand gaze in helpless confusion at the phantoms, whose eyes shone\ndismally in the moon beneath their silver hair and great purple caps.\nThe Meermuts stood, as it were, for a living rampart all down the\nuntrodden snow towards the great Pit of Mulgarmeerez till lost in the\nfaint grey mists of the mountains.\n\n\"What's to be done now, Prince of Ladder-makers?\" said Thumb presently.\n\"Are we not weary of wandering? There's room for us all in those great\nshadowy bellies.\"\n\n\"Itthiluthi thoth 'Meermut' onnoth anoot oonoothi,\" lisped one of the\nMoona-mulgars--that is to say, in their own language, \"But maybe these\nMeermuts gnaw before swallowing.\"\n\nAs for Ghibba, he feigned that his eyes were too weak and sore, and\npeered in vain beneath his bandages. \"Tell me what's to be seen,\nMulla-mulgar,\" he said. \"Why do we linger? The frost's in my toes. Up\nwith fresh torches and go forward.\"\n\nThumb grunted, but made no answer. Then Ghibba drew softly back into the\ndeeper shadow, and the rest of the Mulgars, who by now were all come\nup, stood whispering, some in perplexity, not knowing what to do; some\nitching and sniffing to go forward, and one or two for turning back. One\nMoona-mulgar, indeed, mewing like a cat in his extreme fear, when he had\nheard Thumb's sudden bark, had turned lean shanks and hairy arms and\nfled down by the way they had come. Fainter and fainter had grown the\nsounds of snapping twigs, until all again was silent.\n\n\"What wonder our father Seelem stumbled as he ran?\" muttered Nod to\nThumb.\n\nBut Ghibba stood thinking, the skin of his forehead twitching up and\ndown, as is the habit of nearly all Mulgars, high and low. \"This is our\nriddle, O Mulla-mulgars,\" he said: \"If we turn back and climb slowly\nupward, so as to creep round in hiding from these giant Meermuts, we\nshall only come at last to batter our heads against the walls of\nM[=o][=o]t. And M[=o][=o]t I know of old: there the Gunga-moonas make\ntheir huddles. And the other way, under the moon, there juts a precipice\nfive thousand Mulgars deep, through which, so the old news goes, creeps\nslowlier than moss Tishnar's never-melting Obea of ice. Here, then, is\nour answer, Princes: The valleys must be yet many long days' journey.\nEither, then, we go straight forward beneath the feet of Tishnar's\nOrchard-meermuts, like forest-mice that gambol among a Mutti of\nEphelantoes, or else, like shivering Jack-Alls, we go back, to live out\nthe rest of this littlest of lives itching, but having nowhere to\nscratch. What thinks the Mulgar Eengenares?\"\n\nAnd at that Nod remembered what the watchman had said, when they were\ntalking together by the eagles' watch-fires. He touched Thumb, speaking\nsoftly in Mulgar-royal. \"Thumb, my brother, what of the Wonderstone?\nwhat of the Wonderstone? Shall we tell this Moona-mulgar of that?\"\n\nThumb laughed sulkily. \"Seelem kept all his wits for you, Jugguba,\" he\nanswered; \"rub and see!\"\n\nSo Nod spread open his pocket-flap and fetched out the Wonderstone,\nwrapped in its wisp of wool and the stained leaf of paper from Battle's\nlittle book. He held it out in his brown, hairless palm to Ghibba\nbeneath the thorn. \"What think you of that, Mulla-moona?\" he said. And\neven Ghibba's dim eyes could discern its milk-pale shining. They talked\nlong together in the shadow of the thorns, while the rest of the skinny\ntravellers sat silent beside their bundles, coughing and blinking as\nthey mumbled their mouldy cheese-rind.\n\nGhibba said that, as Nod was a Nizza-neela, they should venture out\nalone together. \"I am nothing but a skin of bones--nothing to pick,\" he\nsaid, \"and all but sand-blind, and therefore could not see to be\nafraid.\"\n\n\"No, no, no, Mulla-moona,\" Thumb grunted stubbornly. \"If mischief came\nto my brother, how could I live on, listening to the chittering of his\nmother's Meermut asking me, 'Where is Nod?' Stay here and guard my\nbrother, Thimbulla, who is too sick and weak to go with us; and if we\nneither of us return before morning, deal kindly with him, Mulla-moona,\nand have our thanks till you too are come to be a shadow.\"\n\nSo at last it was agreed between them. And Thumb and Nod returned\ntogether to the edge of the wood and peered out once more towards the\nphantom-guarded orchards. Nod waited no longer. He wetted his thumb once\nmore, and rubbed thrice, droning or crooning, and stamping nimbly in the\nsnow, till suddenly Thumb sprang back clean into the midst of a\nthorn-tree in his dismay.\n\n\"Ubbe nimba sul ugglourint!\" he cried hollowly. For the child stood\nthere in the snow, shining as if his fur were on fire with silver light.\nAbout his head a wreath of moon-coloured buds like frost-flowers was\nset. His shoulders were hung with a robe like spider-silk falling behind\nhim to his glistening heels. But it was Nod's shrill small laughter that\ncame out of the shining.\n\n\"Follow, oh follow, brother,\" he said. \"I am Fulby, I am Oomgar's\nM'keeso; it is a dream; it is a night-shadow; it is Nod Meermut; it is\nfires of Tishnar. Hide in my blaze, Thumb Mulgar. And see these Noomas\ncringe!\"\n\nThumb grunted, beat once on his chest like a Gunga, and they stepped\nboldly out together, first Nod, then black Thumb, into the wide\nsplendour of the waste. And the Men of the Mountains watched them from\nbetween the spiky branches, with eyes round as the Minimuls', and mouths\najar, showing in their hair their catlike teeth.\n\nOut into the open snow that borders for leagues the trees of Tishnar's\norchard stepped Nod, with his Wonderstone. And, as he moved along, the\nfrost-parched flakes burned with the rainbow. But if the phantoms of\nMulgarmeerez were not blind, they were surely dumb. They made no sign\nthat they perceived this blazing pigmy advancing against them. Nod's\nlight heels fell so fast Thumb could scarcely keep pace with him. He\ncame on grunting and coughing, plying his thick cudgel, his great dark\neyes fixed stubbornly upon the snow. And lo and behold! when next Nod\nlifted his face he saw only moonlight shining upon the smooth trunks of\ntrees, which in the higher branches were stooping with coloured fruit.\nHe laughed aloud. \"See, Thumb,\" he said, \"my magic burns. M'keeso\nchatters. These Tishnar Meermuts are nought but trunks of trees!\"\n\nBut Thumb stared in more dismal terror still, for he saw plainly now\ntheir huge and shadowy clubs, their necklets of gold and ivory, and the\nhideous, purple-capped faces of the ghouls gloating down on him. \"Press\non, Ummanodda; your eyes burn magic, and trees to you are sudden death\nto me.\" His hair stood out in a grisly mantle around him, for sheer fear\nand horror of these gigantic faces as they passed. But Nod edged lightly\nthrough, like mantling swan or peacock, seeing only Tishnar's lovely\norchards. No snow lay here in these enchanted glades, but the grass was\npowdered with pure white flowers that caught the flame of him in their\nbeauty as he passed. The strange small voices the travellers had heard\non the hillside seemed haunting the laden boughs of the orchard. But to\nThumb all was darkness, and frozen snow, spiked thorn-trees, a-roost\nwith evil birds, and the horror of the motionless phantoms behind him.\nHe seemed ever and again to hear their stride between the twigs, and to\nfeel a terrific thumb and finger closing over his matted scalp.\n\nIn a little while the path the two Mulgars thridded led out from under\nthe boughs, and they found themselves at the foot of the great peak they\nhad all night been approaching. And Nod saw fountains springing in foam\namid the flowery grasses, and all about them were trees laden with\nfruit, and the music of instruments and distant voices. But not on these\nnear things was his mind set, but on the secret paths of Mulgarmeerez,\nwinding down from the crested peak above.\n\n\"O brother, my brother! Tishnar is walking on the hills,\" he said. But\nThumb, though he rubbed his eyes, could see nothing but the towering and\ndesolate scaurs of ice and snow and a kind of snow-choked ridge girdling\nthe abrupt mountain-side. But Nod came to a stand, half crouching,\namazed, and watched, as it seemed to him, the Middens of Tishnar riding\nmore beautiful than daybreak in the moonlight of her hills. And he heard\na clear voice within him cry: \"Have no fear, Nizza-neela, Mulla-mulgar\njugguba Ummanodda, neddipogo, Eengenares; feast and be merry. Tishnar\nwatches over the brave.\" And he told Thumb what the voice had said to\nhim.\n\nAnd Thumb grew angry, for he was tired out of his courage. \"Have it as\nyou will,\" he said. \"It is easy to fear nothing and to see what is not\nhere when you meddle with magic, and shine like a fish out of water. But\nas for me, I go back to my brother Thimble, and to my friends, the Men\nof the Mountains.\" And he stumped sullenly off, crouching low over his\ncudgel.\n\nThen Nod said softly: \"Wonderstone, Wonderstone! call back my brother\nand open his eyes.\" Instantly Thumb stopped and stood upright. Thorn and\nsnow, blain and ache and bruise, were gone. He saw the meadows alight\nwith starry flowers, the fountains and the fruit. And he smelled the\nsmoke of nard and soltziphal burning in the cressets of the servants of\nTishnar. Nod laughed silently, and said: \"Bring, too, O Wonderstone, my\nbrother Thimbulla on his litter, and the Prince Ghibba and his kinsfolk\nto feast with me.\"\n\nFor there, in the midst between the fountains, was a long low table\nspread with flowers and strange fruits and nuts, and lit with clear,\npear-shaped flames floating in the air like that of the Wonderstone, but\nof the colours of ivory and emerald and amethyst; with nineteen platters\nof silver and nineteen goblets of gold. And presently they heard in the\ndistance the grasshopper voices of the Hill-mulgars, as they came\nstubbling along with Thimble's litter in their midst, carrying their\nheavy faggots and bottles and bundles, their pink eyes blinking, their\nknees trembling, not knowing whether to be joyful or afraid.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n\nThey cast off their burdens into the flowery meadows and besprinkled\nthemselves with the pools of crystal water beneath the fountains. And\nNod himself bathed Ghibba's eyes in the fountain-pool, so that he, too,\ncould see, looking close, the wandering flames lighting the platters and\ngoblets and fruits and nuts and flowers.\n\n    [Illustration: THEY FEASTED ON FRUITS THEY NEVER BEFORE HAD TASTED\n    NOR KNEW TO GROW ON EARTH]\n\nThe travellers sat down, all the nineteen of them, Nod at the head of\nthe table--that is, looking towards Mulgarmeerez--and Thumb at the foot,\nwith Thimble propped up on the one side and Ghibba on the other. Many of\nthe Mountain-mulgars, however, who eat always sitting on the ground,\nsoon found this perching on stools at a table irksome for their\npleasure, and squatted themselves down in the thick grasses for\nTishnar's supper. And they feasted on fruits they never before had\ntasted nor knew to grow on earth: one, rosy and red and round and small,\nwith a long, slender stalk and a little pale hard stone, of the colour\nof amber, in the middle; one very sweet and globular, jacketed in a\nyellow rind, the inside all divided into little juicy wedges as if for a\nmouthful each; another rough like lichen, with a tuft of leaves in a\nspike, rusty without and pale within; yet another with a hard, smooth\ncoat like faded copper, but inside a houseful of hundreds of tiny fruits\nlike seeds of the colour of blood, and running over with pleasant\njuices; also Manakin-figs, keeries, and love-apples, quinces, juleeps,\nxandimons, and grapes.\n\nThere were nuts also--green, coral, and cinnamon, long and little,\nhairy, smooth, crinkled, rough, in pairs, dark and double, round-ribbed\nand nuggeted--every kind of nut the pouch of Mulgar knows. And they\ndrank from their goblets thin sweet wine, honey-coloured, and lilac. And\nwhile they ate and drank and made merry, lifting their cups, cracking\ntheir nuts, hungrily supping, a distant and beautiful music clashed in\nthe air around the feasting travellers, like the music of cymbal and\ndulcimer. Nod sat silken-silvery, with every hair enlustred, his\nwrinkles gone, his small right hand feeding him, while with his\nwoman-hand he clasped his Wonderstone, his little face bright as a\nchild's, with topaz eyes. Rejoiced were the sad-faced Mountain-mulgars\nthat they had not forsaken the wandering Princes and gone home. They\nfeasted like men.\n\nAnd at last, when all were refreshed, they rose and raised their voices\nto Tishnar, hoarse, and shrill, turning their faces towards the vast and\nsilent peak of Mulgarmeerez, that jutted to the stars above their heads.\nThen they laid themselves down in the sweet Immanoosa-scented meadow,\nand soon, lulled by the noise of the fountains and the faint, wandering\norchard music, they fell asleep. Nod, too, lay down, ruffled with fire,\nburning like touchwood, amid the enchanted flowers. But as deeper and\ndeeper he sank to sleep, his small brown fingers loosened and unclasped\nabout his Wonderstone; it fell to the bottom of his sheep-skin pocket,\nand then, like a dream, vanished, gone, were fountain, feast, and music.\nAnd deep in snow, encircled by poison-thorns, slumbered the nineteen\ntravellers in their rags and solitude, come out of magic, though they\nknew it not.\n\nOne by one they awoke, stiff and dazed from so deep a sleep. They made\nno stay here, lest Tishnar should be angered with them. And to some the\nnight seemed a dream; some even whispered, \"N[=o][=o]manossi.\" And all,\nturning their faces, with daybreak broadening on their cheeks, hastily\ntook up their workaday bundles again and hurried off.\n\nBut when Nod lifted his eyes to Mulgarmeerez, it seemed as if many\nphantom faces were looking down on them as they hastened, like some\nsmall company of hares or coneys, straggling across the whiteness. Being\nrefreshed with sleep and Tishnar's phantom supper, the Mountain-mulgars\ndid not stay to take their \"glare,\" but just screened their feeble eyes\nagainst the sunbeams with eagle feathers, and, with Thimble swinging in\nhis litter, scurried on across these smoother slopes. By night\nMulgarmeerez, last of the seven peaks of Arakkaboa, was left behind\nthem, and it seemed the wind blew not so sharply out of the haze on this\nside of the haunted woods. The travellers towards evening slept in a dry\ncavern. But it was a fidgety sleep, for this cave was the haunt of an\nodd and wily sand-flea that made the most of a Mulgar-supper, more\ntoothsome than anything it had feasted on for many a day.\n\nNear about the middle of the next morning the travellers came in their\ndescent to a stream of water rushing swiftly but smoothly in the channel\nit had graven for its waters out of the rock. This torrent was green,\nicy, and deep. On its farther side the rock rose steep and smooth. The\ntravellers kindled themselves a fire and warmed their cold bones. Then,\nhaving emptied their skin-bottles, they set off along the bank, or as\nnear to it as they could walk at ease. Thimble's shivering was now gone,\nand he marched along with his brothers, rather hobbledy, but in very\ngood spirits. He took good care, however, to keep well in front of the\nMountain-mulgars, for if he so much as faintly sniffed their cheese, he\nfell sick. Ever downward now they were marching. A warm wind was blowing\nout of the valley, the snows were melting, and rills trickling\neverywhere into the green and swirling water. And after a march all\nmorning, they came to a village of the Fishing-mulgars.\n\nThese are a peaceable and ugly tribe of Mulgars, with extremely long and\nsinewy tails, which are tufted at the tip, like those of the\nMoona-mulgars, with a bunch of fine silky hair. They smear upon this\ntuft the pulp of a fruit that grows on a bush hanging over the water,\ncalled Soota, which the fish that swim in this torrent never weary of\nnibbling. Then, sitting huddled up and motionless in some little inlet\nor rocky hole in the bank, the Fishing-mulgar pays out his long tail and\nlets it drift with the stream. By-and-by, maybe, some hungry fish comes\nswimming by that way and smells the pounded Soota. He softly stays,\nnibbling and tasting. Very slowly the Fishing-mulgar, who instantly\nperceives the least commotion in his tail-tuft, draws back his bait\nwithout so much as blinking an eyelid. And when he has enticed the fish\nquite close to the bank, still all intent on its feeding, he stoops in a\nflash, and, plunging his sharp-nailed hands in the water, hooks the\nstruggler out.\n\nThey swarm about water, these Mulgars, and teach their tiny babies to\nfish, too, by scooping out a hole or basin in the rock, which they fill\nfrom the torrent. In this they set free two or three little half-grown\nfish. These, with their infant tails, the children catch again and\nagain, and are rewarded at evening, according to their skill, with a\nslice of roe or a backbone to pick. An old and crafty Fishing-mulgar\nwill sit happy all day in some smooth hollow, and, having snared perhaps\nfour or five, or even, maybe, as many as nine or twelve fat fishes, home\nhe goes to his leaf-thatched huddle or sand-hole, and eats and eats till\nhe can eat no more. After which his wife and children squat round and\nfeed on what remains. Some eat raw, and those of less gluttony cook\ntheir catch at a large fire, which they keep burning night and day. Here\nthe whole village of them may be seen sitting of an evening toasting\ntheir silvery supper. But, although they are such greedy feeders, there\nis something in the fish that keeps these Mulgars very lean. And the\nmore they eat the leaner they get.\n\nSometimes, Ghibba told Nod, Fishing-mulgars, who have given up all\nfruits and nuts to gluttonize, and live only on fish, have been known by\nmuch feeding to waste quite away. Moreover, a few years of this cold\nfishing paralyses their tails. And so many go misshapen. On being\nquestioned as to where they had learned to make fire, the\nFishing-mulgars told Ghibba that a certain squinting M\u00f4h-mulgar had come\ntheir way once along the torrent, tongue-tied and trembling with palsy.\nBy the fire he had made for himself the Fishing-mulgars, after he was\ngone, had stacked wood, and this was the selfsame fire that had been\nkept burning ever since. Did once this fire die out, not knowing of, nor\nhaving any, first-sticks, it would be raw fish for the tribe for\nevermore. On hearing this, the travellers looked long at one another\nbetween gladness and dismay--gladness to hear that their father Seelem\n(if it was he) had come alive out of the Orchards, and dismay for his\nmany ills.\n\nThey made their camp for two nights with these friendly people. They are\nas dull and stupid in most things as they are artful at fishing. But\nthey are, beyond even the Munza-mulgars, mischievous mimics. Even the\nlittle ones would come mincing and peeping with wisps of moss and grass\nstuck on their faces for eyebrows and whiskers, their long tails cocked\nover their shoulders, their eyes screwed up, in imitation of the Men of\nthe Mountains. Lank old Thimble laughed himself hoarse at these\nchildren. At night they beat little wood drums of different notes round\ntheir fires, making a sort of wearisome harmony. They also play at many\nsports--\"Fish in the Ring,\" \"A tail, a tail, a tail!\" and \"Here sups\nSullilulli.\" But I will not describe them, for they are just such games\nas are played all the world over by Oomgar and Mulgar alike. They are\nall, however, young and old, hale and paralysed, incorrigible thieves\nand gluttons, and rarely comb themselves.\n\nAll along the rocky banks of the torrent the travellers passed next day\nthe snug green houses of these Fishing-mulgars. Nod often stayed awhile\nto watch their fishing, and almost wished he had a tail, so that he,\ntoo, might smear and dangle and watch and plunge. But their language Nod\ncould not in the least understand. Only by the help of signs and\ngrimaces and long palaver could even Ghibba himself understand them. But\nhe learned at least that, for some reason, the travellers would not long\nbe able to follow the river, for the Fishing-mulgar would first point to\nthe travellers, then to the water, and draw a great arch with their\nfinger in the air, shaking their little heads with shut eyes.\n\nGhibba tried in vain to catch exactly what they meant by these signs,\nfor they had no word to describe their meaning to him. But after he had\npatiently watched and listened, he said: \"I think, Mulla-mulgars, they\nmean that if we keep walking along these slippery high banks, one by\none, we shall topple head over heels into the torrent, and be\ndrowned--over like that,\" he said, and traced with his finger an arch in\nthe air.\n\nBut this was by no means what the Fishing-mulgars meant. For, about\nthree leagues beyond the last of their houses, the travellers began to\nhear a distant and steady roar, like a faint, continuous thunder, which\ngrew as they advanced ever louder and louder. And when the first faint\nflowers began to peep blue and yellow along the margin where the sun had\nmelted the snow, they came to where the waters of the torrent widened\nand forked, some, with a great boiling of foam and prodigious clamour,\nwhelming sheer down a precipice of rock, while the rest swept green and\nfull and smooth into a rounded cavern in the mountain-side.\n\nHere, as it was now drawing towards darkness, the travellers built their\nfire and made their camp. Next morning Ghibba decided, after long\npalaver, to take with him two or three of the Mountain-mulgars to see if\nthey could clamber down beside the cataract, to discover what kind of\ncountry lay beneath. Standing above, and peering down, they could see\nnothing, because, with the melting of the snow, a thick mist had risen\nout of the valley, and swam white as milk beneath them, into which great\ndish of milk the cataract poured its foam. Ghibba took at last with him\nfive of the nimblest and youngest of the Moona-mulgars, not knowing what\ndifficulties or dangers might not beset them. But he promised to return\nto the Mulla-mulgars before nightfall.\n\n\"But if,\" he said, \"the first star comes, but no Ghibba, then do you, O\nRoyalties, if it please you, build up a big fire above the waters, so\nthat we may grope our way back to you before morning.\"\n\nSo, with bundles of nuts and a little of the mountain cheese that was\nleft, when the morning was high, Ghibba and his five set off. The rest\nof the travellers sat basking in the sunshine all that day, dressing\ntheir sores and bruises, dusting themselves, and sleeking out their\nmatted hair. Some even, so great was the neglect they had fallen into,\ntook water to themselves to ease their labour. But for the most part\nMulgars use water for their insides only (and that not often, so juicy\nare their fruits), never for their out. But dusk began to fall, the\nstars to shine faintly, darkness to sally out of the forest upon the\nmountain-side, and Ghibba had not returned. The travellers heaped on\nmore wood, of which there was abundance, and lit a fire so fiery bright\nthat to the Rock-folk looking down--wolf, and fox, and eagle, and\nmountain-leopard--it seemed like a great \"palaver\" of Oomgar-nuggas, who\nhad had their villages in this valley many years before the\nWitzaweelw[=u]lla.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\n\nWhen they could no longer see the hilltop for cloud and mist, Thumb lit\na second fire on the isle of rock upon the verge of the cataract, where\nthe water could not scatter on it. But no sign came of Ghibba and his\nfive Moona-men, and Nod began to fret, and could eat no supper, for fear\nthat some evil had overtaken them. But he said nothing, because he knew\nwell enough by now that Thumb had much the same stomach for distrust as\nhimself, though he kept a still tongue in his head, and that it only\nangered him to be pestered with questions no Mulgar-wit could answer. He\nsat by the watch-fire in his draggled sheep's-jacket, his hands on his\nknees, and wished he had lent Ghibba his Wonderstone. \"But no,\" he\nthought, \"Mutta-matutta bade me 'to no one.' Ghibba is cunning and\nbrave; he will come back.\"\n\nThe Men of the Mountains coiled themselves up by the fire. They fear\nneither for themselves nor for one another. \"We die because we must,\"\nthey say. Yet none the less they raise, as I have said, long ululatory\nlamentations over their dead, and N[=o][=o]manossi is their enemy as\nmuch as any Mulgar's. Thimble, still a little weak and hazy in his head\nafter his sickness, fell quickly asleep; and soon even Thumb, with head\nwagging from side to side, though he sat bolt upright on his heels in\nfront of the fire, was dozing.\n\nNod alone could not close his eyes. He watched his brother's great face;\nlower, lower would drop his chin, wheel round, and start up again with a\njerk. \"Good dreams, old Thumb,\" he whispered; \"dreams of Salem that\nbring him near!\"\n\nAnd all the while that these thoughts were stirring in his head he heard\nthe endless echoing and answering voices of the cataract. Now they\nseemed the voices of Mulgars quarrelling, shouting, and fighting near\nand far; and now it seemed as if a thousand thousand birds were singing\nsweet and shrill beneath the leaves of a great forest. The shadows of\nthe fire danced high. But the night was clear. He could see a great blue\nstar shining right over their thin column of smoke, winding into the\nair. And now from the ravine into which Ghibba had gone down with his\nfive Moona-men the milk-pale mists began softly to overflow, as if from\na pot filled to the brim. If only Ghibba would come back!\n\nNod scrambled up, and rather warily shuffled past the sleepers over to\nthe other beacon-fire they had kindled. A few strange little\nnight-beasts scuttled away as he drew near, attracted by the warmth of\nthe fire, or even, perhaps, taking refuge in its shine from the\nnight-hunting birds that wheeled and whirred in the air above them.\n\"Urrckk, urck!\" croaked one, swinging so close that Nod felt the fan of\nits wings on his cheek. \"Starving Mulgars, urrckk, urck!\" it croaked.\n\nHe heaped up the fire. But he could not see a hand's breadth into the\nravine. Calm and still the mist lay, and softer than wool. Nod wandered\nrestlessly back, passed again the camping Mulgars, and hobbled across\ntill he came to the rocky bank of the torrent near to where it forked.\nHere a faint reflection of the flamelight fell, and Nod could see the\ndrowsy fish floating coloured and round-eyed in the sliding water. And\nwhile he was standing there, he thought, like the sound of an oobo\u00eb\nsinging amid thunder, he seemed to hear on the verge of the roar of the\ncataract a small wailing voice, not of birds, nor of Mulgars, nor like\nthe phantom music of Tishnar. He crept softly down and along the\nwater-side, under a black and enormous dragon-tree. And beneath the\ngiant sedge he leaned forward his little hairy head, and as his\nflame-haunted eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he perceived in the\ndark-green dusk in which she sat a Water-midden sitting low among the\nrushes, singing, as if she herself were only music, an odd little\nwater-clear song.\n\n    \"Bubble, Bubble,\n       Swim to see\n     Oh, how beautiful\n       I be.\n\n    \"Fishes, Fishes,\n       Finned and fine,\n     What's your gold\n       Compared with mine?\n\n    \"Why, then, has\n       Wise Tishnar made\n     One so lovely,\n       Yet so sad?\n\n    \"Lone am I,\n       And can but make\n     A little song,\n       For singing's sake.\"\n\nHer slim hands, her stooping shoulders, were clear and pale as ivory,\nand Nod could see in the rosy glimmering of the flames her narrow,\nbeautiful face reflected amid the gold of her hair upon the formless\nwaters. Mutta-matutta once had told Nod a story about the Water-middens\nwhom Tishnar had made beyond all things beautiful, and yet whose beauty\nhad made beyond all things sad. But he could never in the least\nunderstand why this was so. When, by the sorcery of his Wonderstone, he\nhad swept all glittering the night before across the jewelled snow, he\nhad never before felt so happy. Why, then, was this Water-midden--by how\nmuch more beautiful than he was then!--why was she not happy, too? He\npeered in his curiosity, with head on one side and blinking eyes, at the\nWater-midden, and presently, without knowing it, breathed out a long,\ngruff sigh.\n\nThe still Water-midden instantly stayed her singing and looked up at\nhim. Not in the least less fair than the clustering flowers of Tishnar's\norchard was her pale startled face. Her eyes were dark as starry night's\nbeneath her narrow brows. She drew her fingers very stealthily across\nthe clear dark water.\n\n\"Are you, then, one of those wild wandering Mulgars that light great\nfires by night,\" she said, \"and scare all my fishes from sleeping?\"\n\n\"Yes, Midden; I and my brothers,\" said Nod. \"We light fires because we\nare cold and hungry. We are wanderers; that is true. But 'wild'--I know\nnot.\"\n\n\"'Cold,' O Mulgar, and with a jacket of sheep's wool, thick and curled,\nlike that?\"\n\nNod laughed. \"It was a pleasant coat when it was new, Midden, but we are\nold friends now--it and me. And though it keeps me warm enough marching\nby day, when night comes, and this never-to-be-forgotten frost sharpens,\nmy bones begin to ache, as did my mother's before me, whose grave not\neven Kush can see.\"\n\n\"The Mulgar should live, like me, in the water, then he, too, would\nnever know of cold. Whither do you and your brothers wander, O Mulgar?\"\n\n\"We have come,\" said Nod, \"from beyond all Munza-mulgar, that lies on\nthe other side of the river of the saffron-fearing Coccadrilloes--that\nis, many score leagues southward of Arakkaboa--and we go to our Uncle,\nKing Assasimmon, Prince of the Valleys of Tishnar--that is, if that\nMountain-prince, my friend Ghibba, can find us a way.\"\n\nThe Water-midden looked at Nod, and drew softly, slowly back her smooth\ngold locks from the slippery water. \"The Mulla-mulgar, then, has seen\ngreat dangers?\" she said. \"He is very young and little to have travelled\nso far.\"\n\nNod's voice grew the least bit glorious. \"'Little and young,'\" he said.\n\"Oh yes. And yet, O beautiful Water-midden, my brothers would never\nhave been here without me.\"\n\n\"Tell me why that is,\" she said, leaning out of her heavy hair.\n\n\"Because--because,\" Nod answered slowly, and not daring to look into her\nface--\"because Queen Tishnar watches over me.\"\n\nThe Water-midden leaned her head. \"But Tishnar watches over all,\" she\nsaid.\n\n\"Why, then, O Midden, has, as your song said, Tishnar made you so sad?\"\n\n\"Songs are but songs, Mulla-mulgar,\" she answered. \"It is sad seeing\nonly my own small loneliness in the water. Would not the Mulgar himself\nweary with only staring fish for company?\"\n\n\"Are there, then, no other Water-middens in the river?\" said Nod.\n\n\"Have you, then, seen any beside me?\"\n\n\"None,\" said Nod.\n\nThe Water-midden turned away and stooped over the water. \"Tell me,\" she\nsaid, \"why does the Queen Tishnar guard so closely _you_?\"\n\n\"I am a Nizza-neela, Midden--Mulla-mulgar Ummanodda Nizza-neela\nEengenares--that is what I am called, speaking altogether. Other names,\ntoo, I have, of course, mocking me. Who is there wise that was not once\nfoolish?\"\n\n\"A Nizza-neela!\" said the Midden, leaning back and glancing slyly out of\nher dark eyes.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said Nod gravely; \"but besides that I carry with me....\"\n\n\"Carry with you?\" said she.\n\n\"Oh, only the Wonderstone,\" said Nod.\n\nThen the Water-midden lifted both her hands, and scattered back her long\npale locks over her narrow shoulders. \"The Wonderstone? What, then, is\nthat?\"\n\nNod told her, though he felt angry with himself, all about the\nWonderstone, and what magic it had wrought.\n\n\"O most marvellous Mulla-mulgar,\" she said, \"I think, if I could see but\nonce this Wonderstone--I think I should be never sad again.\"\n\nNod turned away, glancing over his shoulder to where, leaning amid the\nstars, hung the distant darkness of Mulgarmeerez. He slowly unfastened\nhis ivory-buttoned pocket and groped for the Wonderstone. Holding it\ntight in his bare brown palm, he scrambled down a little nearer to the\nwater, and unlatched his fingers to show it to the Midden. But now, to\nhis astonishment, instead of glooming pale as a little moon, it burned\nangry as Antares.\n\nThe Water-midden peeped out between her hair, and laughed and clapped\nher hands. \"Oh, but if I might but hold it in my hand one moment, I\nthink that I should never even sigh again!\" said she. Nod's fingers\nclosed on the Wonderstone again.\n\n\"I may not,\" he said.\n\n\"Then,\" said the Water-midden sorrowfully, \"I will not ask.\"\n\n\"My mother told me,\" said Nod.\n\nBut the Water-midden seemed not now to be listening. She began to smooth\nand sleek her hair, sprinkling the ice-cold water upon it, so that the\ndrops ran glittering down those slippery paths like dew.\n\n\"Midden, Midden,\" said Nod quickly, \"I did not mean to say any\nunkindness. You would give me back my Wonderstone very quickly?\"\n\n\"Oh, but, gentle Mulla-mulgar,\" said the Midden, \"my hands are cold;\nthey might put out its fiery flame.\"\n\n\"I do not think so, most beautiful Midden,\" Nod said. \"Show me your\nfingers, and let me see.\"\n\nBoth sly tiny hands, colder than ice-water, the beautiful Water-midden\noutstretched towards him. He gazed, stooping out of his ugliness, into\nthose eyes whose darkness was only shadowy green, clearer than the\nmountain-water. For an instant he waited, then he shut his eyes and put\nthe burning Wonderstone into those two small icy hands. \"Return it to me\nquickly--quickly, Midden, or Tishnar will be angered against me. How\nmust the Meermut of my mother now be mourning!\"\n\nBut the Midden had drawn back amid the reeds, holding tight the ruby-red\nstone in her small hands, and her eyes looked all darkened and slant,\nand her small scarlet mouth was curled. \"Can you not trust me but a\nmoment, Prince of the Mulgars?\"\n\nAnd suddenly a loud, hoarse voice broke out: \"Nod ho, Nod ho! Ulla ulla!\nNod ho!\" Nod started back.\n\n\"Oh, Midden, Midden!\" he said, \"it is my brother, Mulla Thumma, calling\nme. Give me my Wonderstone; I must go at once.\"\n\nBut the Midden was now rocking and floating on the shadowy water, her\nbright hair sleeking the stream behind her. Her face was all small\nmischief. \"Let me make magic but once,\" said she, \"and I will return it.\nStop, Prince Ummanodda Nizzanares Eengeneela!\"\n\n\"I cannot wait, not wait. Have pity on me, most beautiful Midden. I did\nbut put it into your hands for friendship's sake. Return it to me now.\nTishnar listens.\"\n\n\"Ummanodda! Ah\u00f4h, ah\u00f4h, ah\u00f4h!\" bawled Thumb's harsh voice, coming\nnearer.\n\n\"Oh, harsh and angry voice,\" cried the Midden, \"it frightens me--it\nfrightens me. To-morrow, in the night-time, Mulla-mulgar, come again. I\nwill guard and keep your Wonderstone. Call me, call me. I will come.\"\n\nThere was a sudden pale and golden swirl of water. A light as of amber\nfloated an instant on the dark, gliding clearness of the torrent. Nod\nstood up dazed and trembling. The Water-midden was gone. His eyes\nglanced to and fro. Desolate and strange rose Tishnar's peak. He felt\nsmall and afraid in the silence of the mountains. And again broke out,\nhollow and mournful, Thumb's voice calling him. Nod hobbled and hid\nhimself behind a tree. Then from tree to tree he scurried in, hiding\nunder great ropes of Cullum and Samarak, until at last, as if he had\nbeen wandering in the forest, he came out from behind Thumb.\n\n\"What is it, my brother?\" he asked softly. \"Why do you call me? Here is\nNod.\"\n\nThumb's eyes gladdened, but his face looked black and louring. \"Why do\nyou play such Munza tricks,\" he said--\"hiding from us in the night? How\nam I to know what small pieces you may not have been dashed into on this\nslippery Arakkaboa? What beasts may not have chosen Mulla-skeeto for\nsupper? Come back, foolish baby, and have no more of this creeping and\nhiding!\"\n\nNod burned with shame and rage at his jeers, but he felt too miserable\nto answer him. He followed slowly after his brother, his small, lean,\nhungry hand thrust deep into his empty pocket. \"O Midden, Midden!\" he\nkept saying to himself; \"why were you false to me? What evil did I do to\nyou that you should have stolen my Wonderstone?\"\n\nA thick grey curtain hung over the night, though daybreak must be near.\nA few heavy hailstones scattered down through the still branches. And\nathwart M[=o][=o]t and Mulgarmeerez a distant thunder rolled. \"Follow\nquick, Walk-by-night,\" said Thumb; \"a storm is brewing.\"\n\nThe men of the Mountains were all awake, squatting like grasshoppers,\nand gossiping together close about their watch-fire. Wind swept from the\nmountain-snows, swirling sparks into the air, and streamed moaning into\nthe ravines. And soon lightning glimmered blue and wan across the\nroaring clouds of hail, and lit the enormous hills with glimpses of\ntheir everlasting snows. The travellers sheltered themselves as best\nthey could, crouched close to the ground. Nod threw himself down and\ndrew his sheep-skin over his head. His heart was beating thick and fast.\nHe could think of nothing but his stolen Wonderstone and the dark eyes\nof the yellow-haired Water-midden. \"Tishnar is angry--Tishnar is angry,\"\nhe kept whispering, beneath the roar of the hail. \"She has forsaken me,\nNoddle of Pork that Nod is.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\n\nWhen at last day streamed in silver across the peaks, the storm had\nspent itself. But Nod did not stir, nor draw near to the fire to drink\nof the hot pepper-water the travellers had brewed against the cold.\nThumb came at last and stooped over him. \"Get up now, Ummanodda, little\nbrother, and do not mope and sulk any more. I was angry because I was\nafraid. How should we have gone a day in safety without the Nizza-neela\nand his Wonderstone? Come nearer to the fire, and dry your sodden\nsheep's-coat.\"\n\nNod crept forlornly to the fire, and sat there shivering. He could not\neat. He crouched low on his heels, nor paid any heed to what was said or\ndone around him. And presently he fell into a cold, uneasy sleep, full\nof dreadful dreams and voices. When he awoke, he peered sullenly out of\nhis jacket, and saw Ghibba with three of the five Moona-mulgars that he\nhad taken with him sitting hunched up round the fire. They had come back\nbruised and bedraggled, and torn with thorns. One of them, stumbling in\nthe gloom on the green rocks, had fallen headlong into the cataract, and\nhad not been seen again; and one had been pounced on and carried off by\nsome unknown beast while they were hobbling back in the torchless\ndarkness towards the beacon above the cataract. There was no way beyond\nthe ravine. All was dense low forest, rocks and thorns, and pouring\nwaterways. And the travellers knew not what to be doing.\n\nNod could not bear to look at them nor listen to their lisping, mournful\nvoices. He covered up his face again, weary of the journey and of the\ndream of Tishnar's Valleys, weary of his brothers, of the very daylight,\nbut weariest of himself.\n\nAfter long palaver, Ghibba came shuffling over to him, and sat down\nbeside him.\n\n\"Is the Mulla-mulgar ill, that he sits alone, hiding his eyes?\" he said.\n\nNod shook his head. \"I am in my second sleep, Mountain-mulgar. A little\nfrost has cankered my bones. It is the Harp Nod hears, not Zevvera's\nz[=o][=o]ts.\"\n\nGhibba sat with a very solemn look on his grey scarred face. \"The\nMulla-mulgars say there can be no turning back, Nizza-neela. And, by the\nway I have come, it is certain that there is no going onward. Then, say\nthey, being Mulgars-of-a-race, we must float with the mountain-water\ninto the great cavern, and trust our hearts to the fishes. Maybe it will\ncarry us to where every shadow comes at last; maybe these are the waters\nof the Fountains of Assasimmon.\"\n\n\"I see no boat,\" yapped Nod scornfully. \"The only boat my brothers ever\nfloated in was an old Gunga's Oomgar-nugga's bobberie that now is a nest\nin Obea-Munza for Coccadrilloes' eggs.\"\n\n\"Already my people are gathering branches,\" said Ghibba, \"to make\nfloating mats or rafts, such as I saw one of the Fishing-mulgars\nsquatting on while he dangled his tail for fish-bait. Comfort your weary\nbones, then, Eengenares. Tishnar, who guards you, Tishnar, whose Prince\nyou are, Tishnar, who feasted even Utts like me on fruits of\nsleeping-time, will not forsake us now.\"\n\nNod turned cold, and trembling, as if to tell this solemn Man of the\nMountains that his Wonderstone was gone. But he swallowed his spittle,\nand was ashamed. So he rose up and listlessly hobbled after him to where\nthe rest of the travellers were toiling to gather branches for their\nrafts.\n\nThe storm had snapped and stripped off many branches from the trees.\nThese the travellers dragged down to the water. Others they hauled down\nwith Cullum ropes, and some smaller saplings they charred through with\nfire at the root. When they had heaped together a big pile of boughs and\nSamarak, Cullum and all kinds of greenery, Ghibba and Thumb bound them\nclumsily one by one together, letting them float out on to the water,\nuntil the raft was large and buoyant enough to bear two or three Mulgars\nwith their bags. For one great raft that would have carried them all in\nsafety would have been too unwieldy to enter the mouth of the cavern,\nbesides being harder for these ignorant sailors to navigate. The torrent\nflowed swiftly into the cavern. And if but two or three sailed in\ntogether, Fortune might drown or lose many in the dark windings of the\nmountain-water, but one or two at least might escape.\n\nThey toiled on till evening, by which time four strong green rafts\nbobbed side by side at their mooring-ropes on the water. Then, tired\nout, sore and blistered with their day's labours, the travellers heaped\nup a great watch-fire once more, and supped merrily together, since it\nmight be for many of them for the last time. Nor did the\nmountain-mulgars raise their drone for their kinsfolk beneath the\ncataract, wishing to keep a brave heart for the dangers before them.\n\nOnly Nod sat gloomy and downcast, waiting impatiently till all should be\nlying fast asleep. One by one the outwearied travellers laid themselves\ndown, with the palms of their feet towards the fire. Nod heard the\ncalling of the beasts in the ravine, and ever and again from far up the\nmountain-side broke out the long hungry howl of the little wolves. Only\nNod and the Mountain-mulgar whose turn it was to keep watch were now\nawake. He was a queer old Mulgar, blind of one eye, but he could stand\nwide awake for hours mumbling in his mouth a shaving of their blue\ncheese-rind. And when he had turned his back for a moment on the fire,\nNod wriggled softly away, and, hobbling off into the forest, soon\nreached the water-side.\n\nHe crept forward under the gigantic dragon-tree, and down the steep bank\nto the little creek where he had first heard the singing of the\nWater-midden. All was shadowy and still. Only the dark water murmured in\nits stony channel, and the faint night-wind rustled in the sedge. Nod\nleaned on his belly over the water, and, gazing into it, called as\nsoftly and clearly as his harsh voice could: \"Water-midden,\nWater-midden, here am I, Ummanodda, come as you bade me.\"\n\nNo one answered. He stooped lower, and called again. \"It is me, the\nMulla-mulgar, child of Tishnar, who trusted to you his Wonderstone,\nbeautiful Midden. Nod, who believed in you, calls--your friend, the\nsorrowful Nod!\"\n\n\"Sing, Mulla-mulgar!\" croaked a scornful sedge-bird. \"The Princess loves\nsweet music.\"\n\nA lean fish of the changing colours of a cherry swam softly to the\nglimmering surface and stared at Nod.\n\n\"Tell me, Jacket-of-Loveliness,\" whispered Nod, \"where is thy mistress\nthat she does not answer me?\"\n\nThe fish stared solemnly on wavering fin.\n\n\"Hsst, brother,\" said Nod, and let fall a bunch of Soota-berries into\nthe stream. The fish leapt in the water, and caught the little fruit in\nits thin, curved teeth, and nibbled greedily till all was gone.\nWhereupon, staring solemnly at Nod once more, he let the leaves and\nstalk float onward with the stream, then with a flash and flicker of\ntail dived down, down, and was gone. All again was silent. Only the\nblazing stars and the shadowy phantoms of the distant firelight moved on\nthe water.\n\n\"O Tishnar,\" muttered the little Mulgar to himself, \"help once this\nwretched Nod!\"\n\nSuddenly, as he watched, as if it were the amber or ivory beam of a\nlantern in the water, he saw a pale brightness ascending. And all in a\nmoment the Water-midden was there rocking on the dark green water\nbeneath the arching sedge. But her hands, when Nod looked to see, were\nempty, floating like rose-leaves open on the water. But he spoke gently,\nfor he could not look into her beautiful wild face, and her eyes, that\nwere like the forest for darkness and the moonlit mountains of Tishnar\nfor loveliness, and still be angry, nor even sad.\n\n\"Tell me, O Water-midden, where is my Wonderstone?\" he said.\n\nThe Water-midden smoothed slowly back her gold locks. \"You told me\nfalse, Mulla-mulgar,\" she answered. \"All day long have I been sitting\nrubbing, rubbing with my small tired thumb, but no magic has answered.\nIt is but a common water-pebble roughened into the beasts' shapes. It\nmeans nothing, and I am weary.\"\n\nAnd Nod guessed she had been rubbing the Wonderstone craft to cudgel,\nand not as the magic went, sama-weeza--right to left.\n\n\"If it is but a water-pebble, give it back to me, then, Midden, for it\nwas my mother who gave it me.\"\n\nBut the Midden smiled with her red lips. \"You did deceive me, then,\nMulla-mulgar, so that you might seem strange and wonderful, and far\nabove the other hoarse-voiced travellers, the beloved of Tishnar? You\nmay deceive me again, perhaps. I think I will not give you back your\nstone. Perhaps, too,\" she said, throwing back her tiny chin, so that her\nface lay like a flower in leaves of gold--\"perhaps I rubbed not wisely.\nYou shall tell me how.\"\n\n\"Show me, then, my Wonderstone. I am tired out for want of sleep, and\nlong no more for Tishnar's fountains.\"\n\nThen the Midden floated out into the middle of the stream, and with one\nlight hand kept herself in front of Nod, her narrow shoulders slowly\ntwirling the while in the faintly-rosied starlight. She took with the\nother a long thick strand of her hair, and, unwinding it slowly,\npresently out of it let fall into her palm the angry-flaming\nWonderstone. \"See, Mulla-mulgar, here is your Wonderstone. Now in\npatience tell me how to make magic.\"\n\nAnd Nod said softly: \"Float but a span nearer to me, Midden--a span and\njust a half a span.\"\n\nAnd the Water-midden drew in a little, still softly twirling.\n\n\"Oh, but just a thumb-nail nearer,\" said Nod.\n\nLaughing, she floated in closer yet, till her beautiful eyes were\nlooking up into his bony and wrinkled face. Then with a sudden spring he\nthrust his hand deep into the silken mesh of her hair and held tight.\n\nShe moved not a finger; she still looked laughing up. \"Listen, listen,\nMidden,\" he said: \"I will not harm you--I could not harm you, beautiful\none, though you never gave me back my Wonderstone again, and I wandered\nforsaken till I died of hunger in the forest. What use is the stone to\nyou now? Tishnar is angry. See how wildly it burns and sulks. Give it,\nthen, into my hand, and I promise--not a promise, Midden, fading in one\nevening--I will give you any one thing else whatsoever it is you ask.\"\n\nAnd the Water-midden looked up at him unfrightened, and saw the truth\nand kindness in his eyes. \"Be not angry with me, little brother,\" she\nanswered. \"I did not pretend with you, sorrowful Nizza-neela!\" And she\ndropped the Wonderstone into his outstretched hand.\n\nTears sprang up into Nod's tired, aching eyes. He smoothed softly with\nhis hairy fingers the golden strands floating in the ice-cold water.\n\"Till I die, O beautiful one,\" he said, \"I will not forget you. Tell me\nyour wish!\"\n\nThen the Water-midden looked long and gravely at him out of darkling\neyes. She put out her hand and touched his. \"This shall be my sorrowful\nwish, little Mulgar: it is that when you and your brothers come at last\nto the Kingdom of Assasimmon, and the Valleys of Tishnar, you will not\nforget me.\"\n\n\"O Midden,\" Nod answered, \"it needed no asking--that. It may be we shall\nnever reach the Valleys. For now we must plunge into the water-cavern on\nour floating rafts, and all is haste and danger. But I mind no danger\nnow, Midden. That Mulla-mulgar, my father Seelem, chose to wander, and\nnot to sit fat and idle with Princes. So, too, would I. Tell me a harder\nwish. Ask anything, Water-midden, and my Wonderstone shall give it you.\"\n\nAnd the Water-midden gazed sorrowfully into his face. \"That is all I\nask, Mulla-mulgar,\" she repeated softly--\"that you will not forget me. I\nfear the Wonderstone. All day it has been crickling and burning in my\nhair. All that I ask, I ask only of you.\" So Nod stooped once more over\nthat gold and beauty, and he promised the Water-midden.\n\nAnd she drew out a slender, fine strand of her hair, and cut it through\nwith the sharp edge of a little shell, and she wound it seven times\nround Nod's left wrist. \"There,\" she said; \"that will bid you remember\nme when you come to the end. Have no fear of the waters, Nizza-neela; my\npeople will watch over you.\"\n\nAnd Nod could not think what in his turn to give the Water-midden for a\nremembrance and a keepsake. So he gave her Battle's silver groat with\nthe hole in it, and hung it upon a slender shred of Cullum round her\nneck, and he tore off also one of the five out of his nine ivory buttons\nthat still clung to his coat, and gave her that, too.\n\n\"And if my brothers stay here one day more, come in the darkness, O\nWater-midden; I shall not sleep for thinking of you.\" And he said\ngood-bye to her, kneeling above the dark water. But long after he had\nsafely wrapped his Wonderstone in the blood-stained leaf from Battle's\nlittle book again, and had huddled himself down beside the slumbering\ntravellers, he still seemed to hear the forlorn singing of the\nWater-midden, and in his eyes her small face haunted, amid the darkness\nof his dreams.\n\nAll the next morning the travellers slaved at their rafts. They made\nthem narrow and buoyant and very strong, for they knew not what might\nlie beyond the mouth of the cavern. And now the sun shone down so\nfiercely that the Mulgars, climbing, hacking, dragging at the branches,\nand moiling to and fro betwixt forest and water, teased by flies and\nstinging ants, hardly knew what to do for the heat. Thumb and Thimble\nstripped off the few rags left of their red jackets, and worked in their\nskins with better comfort. And they laughed at Nod for sweating on in\nhis wool.\n\n\"Look, Thumb,\" laughed Thimble, peering out from under a tower of\ngreenery, \"the little Prince is so vain of his tattered old\nsheep's-jacket that he won't walk in his bare an instant, yet he is so\nhot he can scarcely breathe.\"\n\nNod made no answer, but worked stolidly on, bunched up in his hot\njacket, because he feared if he went bare his brothers would see the\nthin strand of bright hair about his wrist, and mock at the Midden.\nWhen the sun was at noon the Mulgars had finished the building of their\nrafts. They lay merrily bobbing in a long string moored to an Ollaconda\non the swift-running water. They tied up bundles of nuts, and old\nNanoes, roots, and pepper-pods, and scores of torches, and bound these\ndown securely to the smallest of the rafts. Then, wearied out, with\nsting-swollen chops and bleeding hands, they raised their\nshadow-blankets, and having bound up their heads with cool leaves, all\nlay down beside the embers of their last night's fire for the \"glare.\"\n\nThere were now seventeen travellers, and they had built nine light\nrafts--two Mulgars for every raft, except two; one of which two was wide\nenough to float in comfort three of the lighter Moona-mulgars, who weigh\nscarce more than Meermuts at the best of times; the other and least was\nfor their bundles and torches and all such stuff as they needed, over\nand above what each Mulgar carried for himself.\n\nIn the full and stillness of afternoon they ate their last meal this\nside of Arakkaboa, and beat out their fire. A sprinkle of hail fell,\nhopping on their heads as they stood in the sunshine making ready to put\noff. It seemed as if there would never come an end to their labour, and\nmany a strange face stared down on them from the brooding galleries of\nthe forest.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\n\nAt last, after fixing a lighted torch between the logs of each raft, the\nMulgars began to get aboard. On the first Ghibba and Thimble embarked,\nsquatting the one in front and the other astern, to keep their craft\nsteady. With big torches smoking in the sunshine, they pushed off.\nTugging on a long strand of Samarak which they had looped around the\nsmooth branch of a Boobab, they warped themselves free. Soon well\nadrift, with water singing in their green twigs, they slid swiftly into\nthe stream, shoving and pulling at their long poles, beating the green\nwater to foam, as they neared the fork, to keep their dancing catamaran\nfrom drifting into the surge that would have toppled them over the\ncataract. The rest of the travellers stood stock-still by the\nwater-side, gazing beneath their hands after the green ship and its two\nsailors, dark and light, brandishing their poles. They followed along\nthe bank as far as they could, standing lean in the evening beams,\nwheezing shrilly, \"Illaloothi, Illaloothi!\" as Moona and Mulla-mulgar\nfloated into the mouth of the cavern and vanished from sight.\n\nOne after another the rest swept off, their rafts dancing light as corks\non the emerald water, each with its flaming torch fast fixed, and its\ntwo struggling Mulgars tugging at their long water-poles. And as each\nraft drifted beneath the lowering arch of the cavern, the Mulgars aboard\nher raised aloft their poles for farewell to Mulgarmeerez. Last of all\nThumb loosed his mooring-rope, and with the baggage-raft in tow cast off\nwith Nod into the stream. Pale sunshine lay on the evening frost and\ngloom of the forests, and far in the distance wheeled Kippel, capped\nwith snow, as the raft rocked round the curve and floated nearer and\nnearer to the cavern. Nod squatted low at the stern, his pole now idly\ndrifting, while behind him bobbed the baggage-raft, tethered by its rope\nof Cullum. He stared into the flowing water, and it seemed out of its\ndeeps, faintly echoing, rang the voice of the sorrowful Water-midden,\nbidding him farewell. And when Thumb's back was for a moment turned, he\ntore out of the tousled wool of his jacket another of his ivory buttons,\nand, lying flat in the leafy twigs, dropped it softly into the stream.\n\"There, little brother,\" he whispered to the button, \"tell the beautiful\nMidden I remembered her last of all things when the hoarse-voiced\nMulgars sailed away!\"\n\nGreen and dark and utterly still Arakkaboa's southern forests drew\nbackward, with the westering sun beaming hazily behind their nameless\npeaks. Nod heard a sullen wash of water, the picture narrowed, faded,\ndarkened, and in a moment they were floating in an inky darkness, lit\nonly by the dim and wavering light of the torches.\n\nThe cavern widened as the rafts drew inward. But the Mulgars with their\npoles drove them into the middle of the stream, for here the current ran\nfaster, and they feared their leafy craft might be caught by overhanging\nrocks near the cavern walls. A host of long-eared bats, startled from\nsleep by the echoing cries and splashings, and the smoke of the torches,\nunhooked their leathery hoods, and, mousily glancing, came flitting this\nway, that way, squeaking shrilly as if scolding the hairy sailors. They\nreminded Nod of the chattering troops of Skeetoes swinging on their\nfrosty ropes in the gloom of Munza-mulgar. When with smoother water the\nraftsmen's shouts were hushed, a strange silence swept down upon the\ntravellers. Nod glanced up uneasily at the faintly shimmering roof hung\nwith pale spars. Only the sip and whisper of the water could be heard,\nand the faint crackle of the dry torch-wood. Thumb flapped the water\nimpatiently with his long pole. \"Ugh, Ummanodda, this hole of darkness\nchills my bones. Sing, child, sing!\"\n\n\"What shall I sing, Thumb?\"\n\n\"Sing that jingling lingo the blood-supping Oomgar-mulgar taught you.\nHow goes it?--'Pore Benoleben.'\"\n\nSo in the dismal water-caverns of Arakkaboa Nod sang out in his seesaw\nvoice, to please his brother, Battle's old English song, \"Poor Ben, old\nBen.\"\n\n    \"Widecks awas'\n       Widevry sea,\n     An' flyin' scud\n       For companee,\n     Ole Benporben\n       Keepz watcherlone:\n     Boatz, zails, helmaimust,\n       Compaz gone.\n\n    \"Not twone ovall\n       'Is shippimuts can\n     Pipe pup ta prove\n       'Im livin' man:\n     One indescuppers\n       Flappziz 'and,\n     Fiss-like, as you\n       May yunnerstand.\n\n    \"An' one bracedup\n       Azzif to weat,\n     'Az aldy deck\n       For watery zeat;\n     Andwidda zteep\n       Unwonnerin' eye\n     Ztares zon tossed sea\n       An' emputy zky.\n     Pore Benoleben,\n     Pore-Benn-ole-Ben!\"\n\nWhen Nod's last quavering drawl had died away, Thumb lifted up his own\nhoarse, grating voice in the silence that followed, and as if with one\nconsent, the travellers broke into \"Dubbuldideery.\"\n\nIt seemed as if the walls would shatter and the roof come tumbling down\nat their prodigious hullabaloo. The bats raced to and fro. Scores of\nfishes pushed up their snouts round Nod's raft, and gazed with curious\nfaces into the torchlight. The water was all astir with their\ndisquietude. But in the midst of the song there sounded a shrill and\nhasty cry: \"Down all!\"\n\nOnly just in time had Ghibba seen their danger, and almost before the\nshrill echo had died away, and Thimble had cast himself flat, their raft\nwas swirled under a huge rock, blossoming with quartz, that hung down\nalmost to the surface of the water. Thimble's jacket was ripped collar\nto hem as he slid under, lying as close as he could. And the bobbing\nraft of baggage behind them was torn away in a twinkling, so that now\nall the food and torches the Mulgars had was what each carried for\nhimself. They dared not stir nor lift their heads, for still the fretted\nroof arched close above the water. And so they drifted on and on, their\ntorches luckily burnt low, until at length the cavern widened, the roof\nlifted, and they burst one by one into a great chamber of smooth water,\nits air filled strangely with a faint phosphorescence, so that every\nspar and jag of rock gleamed softly with coloured light as they paddled\ntheir course slowly through. In this great chamber they stayed awhile,\nfor there was scarcely any current of water against its pillared sides.\nWith their rafts clustering and moored together, they shared out equally\nwhat nuts, dry fruit, and unutterably mouldy cheese remained, and\ndivided the torches equally between them, except that Ghibba, who led\nthe way, had two for every one of the others.\n\nThese thin grey waters swarmed with fish, but all, it seemed, nearly\nblind, with scarcely visible eyes above their snouts. Some of the bigger\nfish, with clapping jaws, cast themselves in range or hunger against the\nrafts. And the Mulgars, seeing their teeth, took good heed to couch\nthemselves close in the midst of their rafts. The longer they stayed,\nthe thicker grew the concourse of fish drawn together by the noise and\nsmell of the travellers, until the cavern echoed with their restless\nfins and a kind of supping whisper, as if the fish had speech. So the\nMulgars pushed off again, laying about them with their poles to scare\nthe bolder monsters off as they gilded softly into the sluggish current,\nuntil the channel narrowed again, and their speed freshened.\n\nOn and on they drifted. On and on the shimmering walls floated past\nthem, now near, now distant. They lost all time. Some said night must be\ngone; some said nay, night must have come again; and to some it seemed\nlike an evil dream, this drifting, without beginning or end. When sleep\nbegan to hang heavily on Thumb's eyelids, he bade Nod lie down and take\nhis fill of it first, while he himself kept watch. Nod very gladly lay\ndown as comfortably as he could on the rough and narrow raft, and Thumb\nfor safety tied him close with a strand of Cullum. He dreamed a hundred\ndreams, rocked softly on the sliding raft, all of burning sunshine, or\nwild white moonlight, or of icy and dazzling Witzaweelw[=u]lla; but the\nWater-midden's beauty haunted all.\n\nHe woke into almost pitch-black gloom, and, starting up, could count\nonly four torches staining the unrippling water with their flare. And,\nbeing very thirsty, he stooped over with hollowed hand, as if to drink.\n\n\"No, no,\" said Thumb drowsily; \"not drink, Nod. Sleepy water--sleepy\nwater. Moona-mulgars there, drunk and drunk; thirstier and thirstier,\ntorches out--all dead asleep--all dead asleep.\"\n\n\"But my tongue's crackling dry, Thumb. Drink I must, Thumb.\"\n\n\"Nutshells,\" said Thumb--\"suck nutshells, suck them.\"\n\nNod took out the last few nuts he had. And in the faint glowing of the\ndistant torches he could see Thumb's great broad-nosed face turned\nhungrily towards them.\n\n\"How many nuts left have you, my brother?\" Nod said.\n\nThumb tapped his stomach. \"Safe, safe all,\" he said. \"Nod slept on and\non.\"\n\n\"Why did you not wake me, Thumb? Lie down now. I am not hungry, only a\nlittle thirsty. Have these few crackle-shells before you sleep, old\nThumb.\" He gave Thumb nine out of his thirteen nuts, and partly because\nhe was ravenously hungry, partly because their oiliness a little\nassuaged his thirst, Thumb crunched them up hastily, shells and all.\nThen he lay down on the raft, and Nod tied his great body on as safely\nas he could.\n\nThere seemed to be some tribe of creatures dwelling in this darkness.\nFor Thumb had but a little while lain down, when the stream bore the\nrafts along a smoother wall of rock, which rose, as it were, to a ledge\nor shelf; and all along this rocky shelf Nod could see dim, rounded\nholes, of a breadth to take with ease the body of a Mullabruk or\nManquabee. He fancied even he saw here and there shadowy figures\nstooping out. And now and then in the hush he heard a flappity rustle,\nas of some hairy creature scampering quickly along the ledge on four\nnaked feet. But he called and called in vain. No answer followed, except\na feeble hail from Thimble's raft far ahead, with its torches feebly\ntwinkling.\n\nOnly three of the nine rafts now showed lights, and the last of these\nhad drifted in, and become entangled in some jutting rock or in the\nlong, leathery weed that hung like lichen-coloured grass along the sides\nof the cavern. As Nod drew slowly near, he saw that on this raft both\nits Mulgars lay flat on their faces, lost in their second sleep from\ndrinking of the water. He pushed hard at his long pole, and, leaning\nover, caught their strand of trailing Samarak, and hauled the raft\nsafely into mid-stream again. He stirred and pommelled the Mulgars with\nhis pole. But they made no sign of feeling, except that their mouths\nfell a little ajar. Then he lit the last but one of his own torches by\nthe failing flame of theirs. But it hovered sullen and blue. The air was\nthick. Each breath he took was heavy as a sigh. He was shrunk very\nmeagre with travel, and his little breathing bosom was nothing but a\nslender cage of bones above his heart. He crouched down in the\nwhispering solitude. His lips were cracked, his tongue like tinder. He\nmumbled his shells in vain between his teeth. But from first sleep to\nthe second sleep is but a little journey, and thence to the last the way\nruns all downhill.\n\nHe chafed his eyes, he clenched his teeth, he crooned wheezily all the\nsongs Battle had taught him. And now once more the cavern opened into a\nwide and still lagoon, over whose grey floor phantom lights moved\ncloudily before the advancing rafts. Its roof wanly blazed with\ncrystals. And there was no doubt now of Mulgar inhabitants. They sat\nunmoved upon their rocky ledges and parapets, with puffed-out, furry\nbodies and immense round, lustrous eyes, with which they steadily\nsurveyed the worn and matted Mulgars, some stretched in stupid slumber,\nsome fevered and famished, with burning eyes, drifting slowly past their\nglistening grottoes. But none so much as stirred a finger or paid any\nheed to the Mulgars' entreaties for food. Only their long ears, which\npeaked well out of their wool, twitched and nodded, as if their\nducketings were a kind of secret language between them.\n\nNod's raft swam last across this weed-mantled lagoon amid the moving\nlight-wisps. He called with swollen tongue: \"O ubjar moose soofree!\nubjar, ubjar, moose soofree!\" But there came no answer, not the least\nstir in the creatures; only the owl-eyes stared steadily on. He lifted\nhimself on trembling legs, and called: \"Walla, walla!\"\n\nThese Arakkaboans only gloated on him, and slowly turned their round\nheads, still twitching their ears at one another, as if in some strange\ntalk.\n\nAnd Nod fell into a Munza rage at sight of them. He danced and gibbered,\nand at last caught up his long water-pole, as if to strike at them; but\nit was too heavy for him after his long thirst; he over-balanced, threw\nout the pole, and fell headlong on to the raft. Thumb muttered in his\nsleep, wagging his head. And with parched lips, so close to that\nfaint-smelling water, Nod could bear his thirst no longer. He leaned\nover, cupped his hands, and sucked in one, two, three delicious\nmouthfuls. Water, cavern, staring Arakkaboans, seemed to float away into\nthe distance, as in a dream. And in a little while, with head lolling at\nThumb's feet, he lay faintly snoring beside his brother.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOut of the heaviness of that long sleep Nod opened his eyes, to find\nThumb's great body stooping over him with anxious face, shaking and\npommelling him, and muttering harshly: \"Wake, wake, Nugget of clay!\nWake, Mulla-slugga! The Valleys! The Valleys, little Ummanodda! Taste,\ntaste! Ummuz, ummuz, UMMUZ!\"\n\nSomething sweeter than honey, something that at one taste wakened in\nmemory Mutta, and Seelem, and the little Portingal's hut, and Glint's\ntowering Ukka-tree, and all his childhood, was pushed between his teeth.\nNod sneezed three times, struggled, and sat up.\n\nFor a moment the light blinded him. Then at last he saw all among a long\nlow stretch of rushes, in still, green water, between the rafts, a\npicture of the sky. A crescent moon hung like a shell in the pale green\nquiet of daybreak. He scrambled to his feet, still gnawing his\nUmmuz-cane. He saw Thimble mumbling like a hungry dog over his food, and\nthe lean shapes of the Moona-mulgars shuffling to and fro. On one side\nrose the forests of the northern slopes of Arakkaboa. A warm, sweet wind\nwas moving with daybreak, and only on the heights next the green of the\nsky shone Tishnar's unchanging snows. Flowers bloomed everywhere around\nhim, not vanishing flowers of magic now. And as far as his round eyes\ncould see, golden with Ummuz and Immamoosa, and silver with dreaming\nwaters, stretched the long-sought, lovely Valleys of Tishnar. This,\nthen, was the Mulgars' journey's end!\n\nNod flung himself down in the long grasses, and cried as if his heart\nwould break. And still with his oozy stick of Ummuz clutched between his\nfingers, he fell asleep.\n\nBut soon came Ghibba to waken him. Thumb and Thimble and all the\nMoona-mulgars were squatting together round a little fire they had\nkindled beneath an enormous tree by the water-side. Bees, that might,\nindeed, be honey-makers from Assasimmon's hives, were droning in the\ntree-blossoms overhead, and tiny Tominiscoes flitting among the\nbranches. It was a wonder, indeed, that birds should draw near such\nscarecrow travellers. More like the N[=o][=o]mad of Jack-Alls they sat\nthan honest Mulgars; some toasting the last paring of their beloved\ncheese to eat with their Nanoes, some with stones pounding Ummuz, some\nat their scratching and combing, and one or two worn out, bonily\nsprawling in the comfort of the sunbeams streaming upon them now from\nfar across Arakkaboa.\n\nBeneath them lay the shallows of the green lagoon in the morning. But\nnear at hand rose up a gigantic grove of Ollacondas into the windless\nsky, so that beyond these the travellers could see nothing of the\nfarther country.\n\nWhen they had eaten and drunk, and were well rested, Thumb and Nod,\ntaking again cudgels in their hands, started off towards the hills that\nrose above the cavern, of purpose, if need be, to climb into the higher\nbranches of some tree, from which they might descry, perhaps, what lay\non the other side of this great grove.\n\nThrough the thick dews they stumped along together, their eyes roving\nthis way and that, in wonder and curiosity of their way. And in a while\nthey had climbed up through the thick undergrowth on to a wide green\nledge, on which were playing and scampering in the fresh shadows a host\nof a kind of Weddervols, but smaller and furrier than those of Munza.\nAnd now they could see beneath them the huge arch through which their\nrafts had floated out while they lay snoring.\n\nWhite flocks of long-legged water-birds were preening their wings in the\nshadows, in which rock and boughs and farthest snow stood glassed. There\nthe two Mulgars stood, ragged and worn, snuffing the sweet air, while a\nfaint surge of singing rose from the forests above their heads.\n\n\"It is a big nest Tishnar's water-birds build,\" said Nod suddenly.\n\nThumb's great head turned on his stooping shoulders, and, with mouth\najar, he stared long and closely at what seemed to be a heap of tangled\nboughs washed up in the water far beneath them.\n\n\"No nest, Ummanodda,\" he said at last; \"it is some Mulgar's tree-roost\nfallen into the water. Its leaves are dry, and the feet of that\nlong-legs stand deep in Spider-flower.\"\n\n\"To my eyes,\" said Nod slowly, \"it looks to me, Thumb, just like such\nanother as one of our water-rafts.\"\n\n\"Wait here a little while, Nizza-neela,\" grunted Thumb suddenly; \"I go\ndown to look for eggs.\"\n\nNod watched his brother pushing his way down through the sedge and\ntrailing Samarak. \"Eggs,\" he whispered--\"eggs!\" and broke out into his\nlittle yapping laughter, though he knew not why he laughed.\n\nUp, up, on sounding wings flew a bird as white as snow from its lodging\nas Thumb drew near. And there he was, stooping, paddling, pushing with\nhis cudgel, and peering into the tangle at the water-side.\n\nNod turned his head, filled with a sudden weariness and loneliness. And\nin the silence of the beautiful mountains he fell sad, and a little\nafraid, as do even Oomgar travellers resting awhile in the journey that\nhas no end.\n\nOut of his Mulgar dreams he was startled by a sudden, sharp, short\nMulgar bark from far beneath, that might be fear or might be sudden\ngladness.\n\nAnd, in a moment, Thumb, having cast down his cudgel, and with something\nclutched in his great hand, was swinging and scrambling back through the\nthick, flowery undergrowth of the hillside by the way he had come.\n\nNod watched him, with head thrust forward and side-long, and at last he\ndrew near, sweating and coughing.\n\n\"S[=o][=o]tli, s[=o][=o]tli!\" he muttered. \"Magic, magic!\" and held out\nin the sunlight an old red, rotted gun.\n\nRusty, choked with earth, its butt smashed, its lock long gone, the two\nMulgars stood with the gun between them.\n\n\"Oomgar's gun, Thumb?--Oomgar's?\" grunted Nod at last.\n\nThumb opened wide his mouth, still panting and trembling.\n\n\"Noos unga unka, Portingal, Ummanodda. Seelem arggutchkin! Seelem! kara,\nkara! Seelem mugleer!\"\n\nAnd even as that last Seelem was uttered, and back to Nod's mind came\nthat morning leagues, leagues away, and himself sitting on his father's\nshoulder, clutching the long cold barrel of the little Portingal's\ngun--even at that moment a faint halloo came echoing across the steeps,\nand, turning, the Mulla-mulgars saw climbing towards them between the\ntrees Thimble and Ghibba. But not only these. For between them walked\non high in a high, hairy cup, with a band of woven scarlet about his\nloins, and a basket of honeycombs over his shoulder, a Mulgar of a\npresence and a strangeness, who was without doubt of the Kingdom of\nAssasimmon.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ... A MULGAR OF A PRESENCE AND A STRANGENESS, WHO WAS\nWITHOUT DOUBT OF THE KINGDOM OF ASSASIMMON.]\n\n\n\n\n    ENVOY\n\n    \"Long--long is Time, though books be brief:\n     Adventures strange--ay, past belief--\n     Await the Reader's drowsy eye;\n     But, wearied out, he'd lay them by.\n\n    \"But, if so be he'd some day hear\n     All that befell these brothers dear\n     In Tishnar's lovely Valleys--well,\n     Poor pen, thou must that story tell!\n\n    \"But farewell, now, you Mulgars three!\n     Farewell, your faithful company!\n     Farewell, the heart that loved unbidden--\n     Nod's dark-eyed, beauteous Water-midden!\"\n\n\n\n\nA NOTE ON THE TYPE IN WHICH THIS BOOK IS SET\n\n\n_This book is composed (on the Linotype), in Scotch. There is a\ndivergence of opinion regarding the exact origin of this face, some\nauthorities holding that it was first cut by Alexander Wilson & Son, of\nGlasgow, in 1837; others trace it back to a modernized Caslon old style\nbrought out by Mrs. Henry Caslon in 1796 to meet the demand for modern\nfaces brought about by the popularity of the Bodoni types. Whatever its\norigin, it is certain that the face was widely used in Scotland, where\nit was called Modern Roman, and since its introduction into America it\nhas been known as Scotch. The essential characteristics of the Scotch\nface are its sturdy capitals, its full rounded lower case, the graceful\nfillet of its serifs and the general effect of crispness._\n\n[Illustration]\n\n    SET UP, ELECTROTYPED, PRINTED, AND\n    BOUND BY THE VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, INC.,\n    BINGHAMPTON, N.Y. \u00b7 ILLUSTRATION\n    PLATES ENGRAVED AND PRINTED BY\n    ZEESE-WILKINSON COMPANY, INC.,\n    LONG ISLAND CITY, N.Y. \u00b7\n    PAPER MANUFACTURED BY THE\n    TICONDEROGA PULP AND\n    PAPER CO., TICONDEROGA,\n    N.Y., AND FURNISHED\n    BY W. F. ETHERINGTON\n    & CO., NEW YORK.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\n\n    In the List of Illustrations, closing quotation marks have been\n    added to \"with fingers of frost\" and \"enchanted orchards of Tishnar\".\n\n    Spelling and punctuation have been retained as in the original\n    publication except as follows:\n\n    Page 23\n\n    sibbetha eena manga M\u00f4h!\" _changed to_\n    sibbetha eena manga M\u00f4h!'\"\n\n    Page 45\n\n    through the green twlight _changed to_\n    through the green twilight\n\n    Page 62\n\n    as for the Water-midden's song _changed to_\n    as for the Water-middens' song\n\n    Page 73\n\n    said the Fish-catcher.\" _changed to_\n    said the Fish-catcher.\n\n    Page 113\n\n    awhile with this Oongar _changed to_\n    awhile with this Oomgar\n\n    Page 128\n\n    shakes noonday with fear _changed to_\n    shakes noonday with fear,\n\n    shakes noonday with fear changed to\n    shakes noonday with fear.\n\n    Page 233\n\n    and runing over with _changed to_\n    and running over with\n\n    Page 245\n\n    and your brothers, wander _changed to_\n    and your brothers wander\n\n    Page 258\n\n    seven time round Nod's left _changed to_\n    seven times round Nod's left\n\n    Page 273\n\n    as do even Ooomgar _changed to_\n    as do even Oomgar","title":"The Three Mulla-mulgars","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":68334}