uld stand
wide awake for hours mumbling in his mouth a shaving of their blue
cheese-rind. And when he had turned his back for a moment on the fire,
Nod wriggled softly away, and, hobbling off into the forest, soon
reached the water-side.

He crept forward under the gigantic dragon-tree, and down the steep bank
to the little creek where he had first heard the singing of the
Water-midden. All was shadowy and still. Only the dark water murmured in
its stony channel, and the faint night-wind rustled in the sedge. Nod
leaned on his belly over the water, and, gazing into it, called as
softly and clearly as his harsh voice could: "Water-midden,
Water-midden, here am I, Ummanodda, come as you bade me."

No one answered. He stooped lower, and called again. "It is me, the
Mulla-mulgar, child of Tishnar, who trusted to you his Wonderstone,
beautiful Midden. Nod, who believed in you, calls--your friend, the
sorrowful Nod!"

"Sing, Mulla-mulgar!" croaked a scornful sedge-bird. "The Princess loves
sweet music."

A lean fish of the changing colours of a cherry swam softly to the
glimmering surface and stared at Nod.

"Tell me, Jacket-of-Loveliness," whispered Nod, "where is thy mistress
that she does not answer me?"

The fish stared solemnly on wavering fin.

"Hsst, brother," said Nod, and let fall a bunch of Soota-berries into
the stream. The fish leapt in the water, and caught the little fruit in
its thin, curved teeth, and nibbled greedily till all was gone.
Whereupon, staring solemnly at Nod once more, he let the leaves and
stalk float onward with the stream, then with a flash and flicker of
tail dived down, down, and was gone. All again was silent. Only the
blazing stars and the shadowy phantoms of the distant firelight moved on
the water.

"O Tishnar," muttered the little Mulgar to himself, "help once this
wretched Nod!"

Suddenly, as he watched, as if it were the amber or ivory beam of a
lantern in the water, he saw a pale brightness ascending. And all in a
moment the Water-midden was there rocking on the dark green water
beneath the arching sedge. But her hands, when Nod looked to see, were
empty, floating like rose-leaves open on the water. But he spoke gently,
for he could not look into her beautiful wild face, and her eyes, that
were like the forest for darkness and the moonlit mountains of Tishnar
for loveliness, and still be angry, nor even sad.

"Tell me, O Water-midden, where is my Wonderstone?" he said.