The Water-midden smoothed slowly back her gold locks. "You told me
false, Mulla-mulgar," she answered. "All day long have I been sitting
rubbing, rubbing with my small tired thumb, but no magic has answered.
It is but a common water-pebble roughened into the beasts' shapes. It
means nothing, and I am weary."

And Nod guessed she had been rubbing the Wonderstone craft to cudgel,
and not as the magic went, sama-weeza--right to left.

"If it is but a water-pebble, give it back to me, then, Midden, for it
was my mother who gave it me."

But the Midden smiled with her red lips. "You did deceive me, then,
Mulla-mulgar, so that you might seem strange and wonderful, and far
above the other hoarse-voiced travellers, the beloved of Tishnar? You
may deceive me again, perhaps. I think I will not give you back your
stone. Perhaps, too," she said, throwing back her tiny chin, so that her
face lay like a flower in leaves of gold--"perhaps I rubbed not wisely.
You shall tell me how."

"Show me, then, my Wonderstone. I am tired out for want of sleep, and
long no more for Tishnar's fountains."

Then the Midden floated out into the middle of the stream, and with one
light hand kept herself in front of Nod, her narrow shoulders slowly
twirling the while in the faintly-rosied starlight. She took with the
other a long thick strand of her hair, and, unwinding it slowly,
presently out of it let fall into her palm the angry-flaming
Wonderstone. "See, Mulla-mulgar, here is your Wonderstone. Now in
patience tell me how to make magic."

And Nod said softly: "Float but a span nearer to me, Midden--a span and
just a half a span."

And the Water-midden drew in a little, still softly twirling.

"Oh, but just a thumb-nail nearer," said Nod.

Laughing, she floated in closer yet, till her beautiful eyes were
looking up into his bony and wrinkled face. Then with a sudden spring he
thrust his hand deep into the silken mesh of her hair and held tight.

She moved not a finger; she still looked laughing up. "Listen, listen,
Midden," he said: "I will not harm you--I could not harm you, beautiful
one, though you never gave me back my Wonderstone again, and I wandered
forsaken till I died of hunger in the forest. What use is the stone to
you now? Tishnar is angry. See how wildly it burns and sulks. Give it,
then, into my hand, and I promise--not a promise, Midden, fading in one
evening--I will give you any one thing else whatsoever it is you ask."