And the pig, being a pig, opened its slits of
eyes and feebly snapped at his fingers. Nod laughed and hastened after
his brothers.

Over the half-moon a cloud of snow was drawing, and soon the whispering
flakes began to float again between the branches. The wind that blew
steadily down the river was sharp and icy. The travellers were afraid,
if they slept in the trees again, they would be frozen. And if even one
big toe of any one of them got frost-bitten, how distant would the
Valley of Tishnar seem then! They heard, too, now and then the faint
sounds of snapping twig and rustling reed, and a low whimpering growl
would sometimes set the giant grasses trembling. Stiff and crusted with
frost, and in constant danger of falling into the river, they crawled
stubbornly on.

And suddenly straight before them burned out a light in the darkness
that was neither of moon, star, nor frost-fire. On they rustled, very
warily now, because they knew somewhere here must lurk the Oomgar-nugga
or Gunga-mulgar whose drumming they had heard. One by one they
presently crept out of the sedge, and stood up a few paces from a kind
of huddle or hut, standing crooked and smoking in the moonlight, and
built of two or three rows of huge stakes, three times plaited, very
fast and close, with Samarak and withies of all kinds. It stood about
three Mulgars high, and its walls were more than four spans thick.

The light which the travellers had espied burning in the distance
streamed from a misshapen window-hole far above Thimble's head. The
Mulgars stood staring at one another in the shadow of the black forest,
and now and then they would hear a rumble or clatter from behind the
thick walls, and presently a sneeze or cough. After which would suddenly
roll out the loud and hollow drumming of the great creature within.

So Thumb bade Nod climb softly on to Thimble's shoulder, and very slowly
lift his face up and look in. Up went Nod, and softly drew his
sheep-skinned head into the light. And the first thing he noticed was a
wonderful steaming smell of broth cooking, and then, as he pushed his
head farther through the window-hole, he looked down into the hut. And
he saw, sitting there on a huge bench before his eating-board, a
gigantic Gunga-mulgar in a shift or shirt of fish-skin. He was guzzling
down broth out of a gourd, and fishing for titbits of fish-fat in it
with a wooden prong or skewer. He knew his comfort, this ugly Gunga. He
sat with cros