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before Moominmamma pulled her counterpane over her snout she remembered to say: 'Still, please wake me up if anything new happens!'
    *
    Later in the evening Misabel went for a solitary stroll by the sea. She saw the moon rise and start his lonesome journey through the night.
    'He's exactly like me,' Misabel thought sadly. 'So plump and lonely.'
    At this thought she felt so forsaken and mild that she had to cry a little.
    'What are you crying for?' asked Whomper nearby.
    'I don't know, but it feels nice,' replied Misabel.
    'But people cry because they feel sorry, don't they?' objected Whomper.
    'Well, yes - the moon,' Misabel replied vaguely and blew her nose. 'The moon and the night and all the sadness there is...'
    'Oh, yes,' said Whomper.



CHAPTER 4
About vanity and the dangers of sleeping in trees
    A FEW days passed.
    The Moomins were beginning to get used to their strange home. Every evening, exactly at sundown, the beautiful lamps were lighted. Moominpappa found out that the red velvet curtains could be pulled to against rain, and that there was a small pantry under the floor. It had a round little roof and was quite cool as there was water around it on three sides. But the nicest discovery was that the ceiling was filled with pictures, still more beautiful than the one with the birches. You could pull them down and back up again, just as you liked. There was one picture of a veranda with a fretwork railing, and it became their favourite, because it reminded them of the Moomin Valley.
    The whole family would have felt completely happy, had it not been for the strange laugh which sometimes cut them short when they talked with each other. At other times there were just contemptuous snorts. Somebody was snorting at them but never showed himself. Moominmamma used to fill a special bowl at the dinner-table and put it by the paper palm in the dark corner, and the following day the bowl was always carefully emptied.
    'It's someone who is very shy,' she said.
    'It's someone who's waiting? said the Mymble's daughter.
    *
    One morning Misabel, the Mymble's daughter, and the Snork Maiden were combing their hair.
    'Misabel ought to change her hair-do,' remarked the Mymble's daughter. 'A parting in the middle doesn't suit her.'
    'But no fringe for her,' said the Snork Maiden and ruffled up her soft hair between the ears. She gave her tail-tuft a light brushing and turned her head to see if the fluff was tidy down her back.
    'Does it feel nice to be fluffy all over?' asked the Mymble's daughter,
    'Very,' the Snork Maiden replied with satisfaction. 'Misabel! Are you fluffy?'
    Misabel didn't answer.
    'Misabel ought to be fluffy,' said the Mymble's daughter and began to tie her hair in a knot.
    'Or curly all over,' said the Snork Maiden.
    All of a sudden Misabel stamped her feet. 'You and your old fluff!' she cried out, bursting into tears. 'You know everything, don't you! And the Snork Maiden hasn't even got a frock on! I'd never never never show myself if I weren't properly dressed! I'd sooner be dead than have no frock on!'
    Misabel hurried off across the drawing-room and into the passage. She stumbled sobbing through the dark, and then she stopped short and felt very much afraid. She had remembered the strange laugh.
    Misabel stopped crying and anxiously began to feel her way back again. She fumbled and fumbled for the drawing-room door, and the longer she fumbled the more afraid she felt. Finally she found a door and pulled it open.
    It wasn't the drawing-room at all. It was quite another room. A dimly-lighted room containing a long row of heads. Cut-off heads on long and narrow necks, with an unusual lot of hair. They were all looking towards the wall. 'If they'd looked at me,' Misabel thought confusedly. 'Imagine if they had looked at me...'
    She was so scared at first that she didn't dare to move a step. She could only stare, bewitched, at the golden curls, the black curls, the red curls...
    *
    Meanwhile the Snork Maiden was