who has more slaves in his palace and more
Ukka-trees in the least of his seventy-seven gardens than your royal
whiskers have hairs! On, then, we go! But be not afraid,
Mulla-moona-mulgar. We will leave a few small stones of Arakkaboa behind
us. But whether you will or whether you won't, on we go until the Harp
sounds. Then our Meermuts will Tishnar welcome, and bid wander over
these her mountains, never hungry, never thirsty, never footsore, with
sweet-smelling lanterns to light us, and striped Zevveras to carry us,
and gongs to make music. But if we live, Chief Mulgar of Kush, we will
remember your words, I and my brother Ummanodda Nizza-neela, for he
shall breathe them into a little book in the Zbaffle Oomgar's tongue for
Prince Assasimmon to mock at in his Ummuz-fields."

Nod listened in wonder to this palaver. Had he, then, been talking in
his sleep, that Thumb knew all about the Oomgar's little fat magic-book?
The old Mountain-mulgar sat solemnly blinking, fingering the tassel of
his long tail. He was a doleful and dirty fellow, and very sly.

"Why," he said at last, "I did but speak Munza fashion. Scratch if you
itch, traveller. Even an Utt can grow angry. As for writing my words in
the Oomgar's tongue, that is magic, and I understand it not. Rest in the
cool of the shadow of Kush a little, and to-morrow my servants shall
lead you as far across Arakkaboa as they know the way. But this I will
tell you: Beyond Zut my paths go not." He raised his pale eyes softly.
"But then, Meermuts need no paths, Mulla-mulgars."

Thumb laughed. "All in good time, Prince," he said, showing his teeth.
"I begin to get an itching for this Zut. We will rest only one day. The
Mulla-mulgar Thimbulla has a poor stomach for your green cheese. We will
journey on to-morrow."

The Mulla-moona then called an old Mulgar who stood by, whose name was
Ghibba, and bade him take a rope (that is, about twenty) of the
Mountain-mulgars with him to show the travellers the secret "walks" and
passes across their country to the border round Zut. "After that," he
said, turning sourly to Thumb, "though your Meermuts were three hundred
and not three, and your Uncle, King Assasimmon, had more palaces than
there are nuts on an Ukka-tree, I could help you no more. Sulani, O
Mulla-mulgars, and may Tishnar, before she scatters your bones, sweeten
your tempers!"

And at that the old Mountain-man curled his tail over his shoulder and
shut his eyes.

When Thum