s, and to the right a cascade
of ice, roped with icicles, streaming from the heights above. But what
most Nod blinked in wonder at were the small white mushroom houses of
these Mountain-mulgars. More than a hundred of them were here, standing
like snow-white beehives in the glare of the sun, each with its low
round door, from which, here and there, a baby Mulgar, with short,
fleecy, and cane-coloured whiskers, stood on its fours, peeping at the
strangers. When they were all three safely landed, one of the Men of the
Mountains led them between the beehive houses to a cool, shadowy cavern
in the mountain-side. There he bade them sit down, while others brought
them a kind of thin, sour cheese and a mess of crushed and mouldy
Ukka-nuts. For these Arakkaboan Mulgars will not so much as look at a
nut fresh and crisp; it must be green and furred to please their taste.
And while the travellers sat nibbling a little meanly of the nuts and
cheese, Thumb told the Men of the Mountains as best he could in the
Munza tongue who they were, and why they were come wandering in
Arakkaboa.

When Thumb in his talk made mention of the name of Tishnar, the
Mountain-mulgars that sat round them in a circle bobbed low, till the
hair of their faces touched the cavern floor.

"The Valleys of Assasimmon lie far from here," said the first
Mountain-mulgar in a shrill, thin voice. "And the Men of the Mountains
walk no mountain-paths beyond the peak of Zut; nor have we ever dangled
our ropes into the Ummuz-groves of Tishnar. I do not even know the way
thither. It would have been go thin and come back fat, O Mulla-mulgars,
if I did. Rest and sleep now, travellers. We will bring you to the
Mulla-moona-mulgar [that is, Lord, or Captain] of Kush when he awakes
from his 'glare.'"

This "glare," or "shine," is the name of the Mountain-mulgars give to
the sleep they take in the middle of the day. Some little while before
"no-shadow," as they call it, or noonday, they creep into their mushroom
houses and sleep till evening begins to settle. So weak have their eyes
become (or are, by nature) that they rarely venture out by day to go
nut-gathering in the valleys. And often then, even, many go bandaged,
keeping touch merely with their tails. It was in the midst of this
noonday sleep or glare that the travellers had roused them with their
halloo. At evening they awake, and when the moon is clear their ladders
may be seen near and far drooping over the precipice