at last she
managed to make him swallow a little hard bright blue seed called
Candar, which drives away fever and quiets dreams. But old Moha eyed him
angrily, and wanted to throw him out into the forest to die. "Who'd
sleep in a jacket that a gibbering Mulgar has died in?" she said.

When the next night was nearly gone, but before it was yet day, Nod
awoke, cool and clear, and stared into the musty darkness of the
Dragon-tree, wondering in vain where he was. Only one small spark of
light could he see--the red star Antares, that was now burning through a
little rift in the bark. He thought he heard a faint rustling of dry
leaves.

"Hey, there!" he called out. "Where is Nod?"

"Hold your tongue, thieving Mulgar," cried an angry voice, "and let
honest folk sleep in peace."

"If I could see," Nod answered weakly, "you wouldn't sleep much
to-night, honest or no."

"You can't see," answered the voice softly, "because, my man of bones,
you are dead and buried under the snow."

Nod grew cold. He pinched his legs; he opened and shut his mouth, and
took long, deep breaths; then he laughed. "It's none so bad, then, being
dead, Voice-of-Kindness," he said cheerfully, "if it weren't for this
sore shoulder of mine."

But to this the morose voice made no answer. Not yet, even, could Nod
remember all that had happened. "Hey, there!" he called out again
presently, "who buried me, then?"

"Buried you? Why, Mishcha and Moha, the old witch-hares, who found you
snuffling in the snow in your stolen sheep's-coat--Mishcha and Moha, who
wouldn't touch monkey-skin, not for a grove of green Candar-trees."

"I remember Moha," said Nod meekly, "a gentle and sleek, a very, very
handsome old Quatta. And is she dead, too?"

But again the sour voice made no reply.

"Once," said Nod, in a little while, "I had two brave brothers. I wonder
where those Mulla-mulgars are now?"

"He wonders," said the voice slowly--"he _wonders_! Frizzling,
frizzling, frizzling, my pretty Talk-by-Night, with seven smoking
Gelica-nuts for company on the spit."

At this Nod fell silent. He lay quaking in his warm, rustling bed, with
puckered forehead and restless eyes, wondering if the voice had told
him the truth, while daybreak stole abroad in the forest.

When dusk began to stir within the Dragon-tree, Mishcha awoke and came
and looked at him.

She hearkened at his ribs and mouth, and there seemed, Nod thought, a
little kindness in her ways. So he put