of the Country of Shadows."

"Why," said Ghibba, "a brave Mulgar might come back once, twice, ten
times; but while one foot would swing after the other, he might still
arise in the morning and try again. 'On, on,' he would say. 'It is
better to die, going, than to live, come-back.'"

And Nod comforted himself a little with that. Perhaps he would yet meet
his father again, riding on Tishnar's leopard-bridled Zevveras;
perhaps--and he twisted his little head over his shoulder--perhaps even
now his Meermut haunted near.

"But tell me--tell me _this_, Mountain-mulgar: What was the fear which
drove him back? What feet so light ran after him that they left no
imprint in the snow? Whose shadow-hands tore his jacket to pieces?"

Ghibba threw down his bundle of twigs, and rubbed his itching arms with
snow.

"That, Mulla-mulgar," he said, smiling crookedly, "we shall soon find
out for ourselves. If only I had the Wonderstone hung in my beard, I
should go singing."

Nod opened his mouth as if to speak, and shut it again. He stared hard
at those bandaged eyes. He glanced across at the black, huddling
thorn-trees; at the Mountain-mulgars, going and returning with their
faggots; at Thimble lying dozing in his litter. All the while betwixt
finger and thumb he squeezed and pinched his Wonderstone beneath the
lappet of his pocket.

Should he tell Ghibba? Should he wait? And while he was fretting in
doubt whether or no, there came a sharp, short yelp, and suddenly out of
the thorn-trees skipped a Mountain-mulgar, and came scampering
helter-skelter over the frozen snow, yelping and chattering as he ran.
Following close behind him lumbered Thumb, who hobbled a little way,
then stopped and turned back, staring.

"Why do you dance in the snow, my poor child? What ails you?" mocked
Ghibba, when the Mountain-mulgar had drawn near. "Have you pricked your
little toe?"

The Mountain-mulgar cowered panting by the fire which Ghibba had
kindled. And for a long while he made no answer. So Nod scrambled on his
fours up the crusted slope of snow. He passed, as he went, two or three
of the Men of the Mountains whimpering and whispering. But none of them
could tell him what they feared. At last he reached Thumb, who was still
standing, stooping in the snow, staring silently towards the clustering
thorn-trees.

"What is it, brother?" said Nod, as he came near. "What is it, brother?
Why do you crouch and stare?"

"Come close, Ummanodda," sa