“Fine!" muttered Mogget. "Wet, cold, and full of holes. Another fun day on the river.”

“I can see time," whispered Mogget, so softly that his words were lost.”

“Time plays tricks between here and home," said Mogget sepulchrally, frightening the life out of the telephone operator.”

“Sam picked up his pack, but before he could put it on, Mogget leaped onto it and slid under the top flap. All that could be seen of him were his green eyes and one white-furred ear."Remember I advised against this way," he instructed. "Wake me when whatever terrible thing is a about to happen happens, or if it appears I might get wet.”

“This? It's a feather-coin. I made it.''What is it for?''It isn't for anything. It's a toy.''It's for annoying people,' said Mogget from Sam's pack. 'If you don't put it away, I shall eat it.”

“As for you, Private, if you mention a word of this to anyone, I'll feed you to the cat thing here. Understand?""Yum," said Mogget."Yes, sir!" mumbled the telephone operator, his hands shaking as he tried to smother the burning wreckage of his switchboard with a fire blanket.”

“Why, Yrael?” it said, as the last of the dark gave way to silver, and the shining sphere of metal sank slowly to the ground. “Why?”“Life,” said Yrael, who was more Mogget than it ever knew. “Fish and fowl, warm sun and shady trees, the field mice in the wheat, under the cool light of the moon.”