"When so many squall together," she said at last, "I cannot hear one. What's your trouble this bright night?"
Then one among them, with a girdle of Mulla-bruk's teeth, bade the rest be silent.
"See here, old hare," he said; "have any filthy Mulgars passed this way, one tall and bony, one fat and hairy, and one little and cunning?"
Mishcha stared. "One and one's two, and one's three," she said slowly. "Yes, truly—three."
"Three, three!" they cried all together—"thieves, thieves!"
Mishcha's face wrinkled. "All Mulgars are thieves," she said; "some even eat flesh. Ugh!"
At this the Minimul-mulgars grew angry, their glassy eyes brightened. They raised their snouts in the air and waved their darts. But the old hare sat calmly under her roof of poisonous thorns.
"Answer us, answer us," they squeaked, "you dumb old Quatta!"
"H'm, h'm!" said Mishcha, staring solemnly. "Mulgars? There are hundreds, and tens of hundreds of Mulgars in my forest, of more kinds and tribes than I have hairs on my scut. How should old Mishcha raise an eyelid at only three? Olory mi, my third-gone grandmother used to tell me many a story of you thieving, gluttonous Mulgars, all alike, all alike. It's sad when one's old to remember, but it's sadder to forget."
Clouds had stolen again over the moon, and snow was falling fast. Let these evil-smelling Minimuls chatter but a little longer, she thought; not a hoof-print would be left.