ar, its swamps and forests and mountains lying tinied in
the pale brown palm of his hand, and as full of changing light as the
bellies of dead fishes in the dark. He got up softly, clutching the
stone tightly in his hand. He listened. He stole down his sandy gallery,
and stood, small and hairy, in his sheep-skin, peering out into the
great evil-smelling kitchen. Then he spat with his spittle on the stone,
and began to rub softly, softly, three times round with his left thumb
S[=a]maweeza, dancing lightly, and slowly the while, with eyes tight
shut and ears twitching.

And it seemed of a sudden as if all his care and trouble had been swept
away. A voice small and clear called softly within him: "Follow,
Ummanodda, follow! Have now no fear, Prince of Tishnar, Nizza-neela; but
follow, only follow!"

He opened his eyes, and there, hovering in the air, he saw as it were a
little flame, crystal clear below, but mounting to the colour of rose,
and shaped like a little pear. As soon as he looked at it it began
softly to stir and float away from him across the glowery kitchen. And
again the mysterious voice he had heard called softly: "Follow, Prince
of Tishnar, follow!" With shining eyes he hobbled warily after the
little flame that, burning tranquil in the air, about a span above his
head, was floating quietly on.

It led him past the gaunt black spit and the dying fire. It wafted
across the great kitchen to the fifth of the gloomy arches, and
stealthily as a shadow Nod stole after it. Under this arch and up the
shelving gallery gently slid the guiding flame. And now Nod saw again
the furry Earth-mulgars, lying on their stomachs in their sandy beds,
whimpering and snuffling in their sleep. On glided the flame; after it
crept Nod, scarcely daring to breathe. "Softly, now softly," he kept
muttering to himself. And now this gallery began to slope downward, and
he heard water dripping. A thin moss was growing on the stony walls. It
felt colder as he descended. But Nod kept his eyes fixed on the clear,
unswerving flame. And in the silence he heard a muffled groan, and a
harsh voice muttered drowsily, "Oo mutchee, nanga," and he knew Thumb
must be near.

The strange voice whispered: "Hasten, Ummanodda Nizza-neela; full moon
is rising!" Then Nod whimpering in his fear a little, like a cat, edged
on once more through a gallery where was laid up on sandy shelves a
great store of nuts and pods and skins and spits and sharp-edged fli