gal's bones were in the burning, and in their envy of the
Mulla-mulgars, their fear of fire was gone.

And so Night came down, and there they all were, hand-in-hand in a huge
monkey-ring, dancing and prancing round the little Portingal's burning
hut, and squealing at the top of their voices; while countless beasts of
Munza-mulgar, too frightened of fire to draw near, prowled, with
flame-emblazoned eyes, staring out of the forest. And this was the
Forest-mulgars' dancing-song:

"Bhoor juggub duppa singlee--duppa singlee--duppa singlee;
Bhoor juggub duppa singlee;
Sal rosen ghar Bh[=o][=o]sh!"

They sing at first in a kind of droning zap-zap, and through their
noses, these Munza-mulgar, their yelps gradually gathering in speed and
volume, till they lift their spellbound faces in the air and howl aloud.
And with such a resounding shout and clamour on the Bh[=o][=o]sh you
would think they were in pain.

For the best part of that night the fire flared and smouldered, while
the stars wheeled in the black sky above the forest; and still round and
round the Mulgars jigged and danced in the glistening snow. For the
frost was so hard and still, not even this great fire could melt it
fifteen paces distant from its flames. And Thimble and Thumb in their
red jackets, and Nod in his cotton breeches and sheepskin coat, shivered
and shook, because they weren't hardened, like the Forest-mulgars, to
the icy night-wind that stole fitfully abroad.

When morning broke, the fire had burned down to a smother, and most of
the dancing Mulgars had trooped back, tired out and sleepy, to their
tree-houses and huddles and caverns and hanging ropes in the forest. But
no sleep stole over those Mulla-sluggas, Thumb, Thimble, and Nod,
sitting on their stones in the snow, watching their home-smoke drooping
down and down. Nod stared and stared at the embers, his teeth
chattering, ashamed and nearly heart-broken. But his brothers looked now
at the smoke, and now at him, and whenever they looked at Nod they
muttered, "Foh! Mulla-jugguba, foh!"--that is to say, "Foh!
Royal-Flame-Shining One!" or "Your Highness Firebright!" or "What think
you now, Prince of Bonfires?" But they were too sullen and angry, and
Nod was too downcast, even to get up to drive away the little
mole-skinned Brackanolls and the Peekodillies which came nosing and
grunting and scratching in the ashes, in search of the scorched oil-nuts
and