"Truly," said Nod softly, "he fishes not for minnows who knows the magic fish-song of the Water-middens."
The old Gunga turned his great black skull, and beneath the beetling porches of his eyes glowered greedily on Nod. "And what," he said cunningly—"what song is that, O Royal Stranger?" And he stooped down suddenly and pushed Nod's jacket under the bench.
"Why do you push my sheep's-coat under the bench?" said Nod angrily.
"I smelt—I smelt," said Gunga, throwing back his head, "scorching. But softly, Mulla-mulgar. What is this Water-middens' song that catches fishes five—six times as big as mine? And if you know all this wisdom, and are truly a Prince of Tishnar, why do you sit here, this freezing night, supping up a poor old Fish-catcher's broth?"
CHAPTER V
By this time, it was plain, Thimble and Thumb had found something to raise them to the window-hole, for Nod, as he glanced up, saw half of both their astonished faces (one eye of each) peering in at the window. He waved his lean little arms, and their faces vanished.
"Why do you wave your long thumbs in the air?" said the old Gunga uneasily.