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the middle of the glade they had put up a high pole, painted blue. On this hung a barometer. They skimmed silently over the grass bowing haughtily to each other, and every time they passed the barometer they bowed deeply to it. (This looked a bit ridiculous.)
    All this time the Hemulen was rambling about in the wood, enraptured by the masses of rare flowers. They were not like the flowers that grew in Moomin Valley - oh, far from it! Heavy, silvery-white clusters which looked as if they were made of glass; crimson-black kingcups like royal crowns, and sky-blue roses.
    But the Hemulen didn't see much of their beauty - he was too busy counting the stamens and leaves, and muttering to himself: 'This is the two hundred-and-nineteenth specimen in my collection!'



Eventually he reached the Hattifatteners' hideout and wandered into it peering eagerly around for rare specimens. He didn't look up until he bumped into the blue pole, which startled him very much. He had never in his life seen so many Hattifatteners! They swarmed over everything and their pale little eyes stared through him. 'I wonder if they're in a bad temper,' the Hemulen thought to himself. 'They're small, but there are horribly many of them!'
    He looked at the big, shiny mahogany barometer. It stood at 'Rain and Wind'. 'Extraordinary,' said the Hemulen, blinking at the sunshine, and he tapped the barometer which sank quite a bit. Then the Hattifatteners rustled threateningly and took a step towards him.
    'It's all right,' he said in alarm. 'I won't take your barometer!'
    But the Hattifatteners didn't hear him. They just came nearer, rustling and waving their hands. The Hemulen, with his heart in his mouth, watched for an opportunity to make his escape, but the enemy stood like a wall around him and always came nearer. And between the trees came still more Hattifatteners, with their staring eyes and silent tread. 'Go away!' screamed the Hemulen: 'Shoo! Shoo!'
    But still they came silently nearer. Then the Hemulen picked up his skirts and began to climb up the pole. It was nasty and slippery, but terror gave him un-Hemulenish strength, and at last he reached the top and got hold of the barometer.
    The Hattifatteners had now reached the foot of the pole and there they waited. The whole glade was thick with them, like a white carpet, and the Hemulen felt quite ill when he thought of what would happen if he fell down.
    'Help!' he yelled at the top of his voice. 'Help! Help!' But the wood was silent.
    Then he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Three short, three long, three short. S.O.S.
    *
    Snufkin, who had wandered along the beach, heard the Hemulen's signal of distress and lifted his head to listen. When he had got the direction clear he dashed to the rescue. The call became louder, and Snufkin, realizing that now it was quite near, crept cautiously forward. It became lighter between the trees, and then he saw the glade, the Hattifatteners, and the Hemulen clutching on tightly to the pole. 'This is a terrible situation,' he muttered to himself, and then louder to the Hemulen: 'Hi! However did you get the peaceful Hattifatteners into such a warlike frame of mind?'
    'I only tapped their barometer,' moaned the poor Hemulen. 'And it sank. Try to take the nasty creatures away, dear Snufkin!'
    'I must think a bit,' said Snufkin.
    (The Hattifatteners heard nothing of these remarks because they hadn't any ears.)
    After a time the Hemulen shouted: 'Think quickly Snufkin, because I'm beginning to slip down!'
    'Listen!' said Snufkin. 'Do you remember the time when those voles came into the garden? Moominpappa dug a lot of poles into the ground and put windmills on them. And when the wheels went round the earth shook so much that the voles were nervous and gave up!'
    'Your stories are always very interesting,' said the Hemulen, bitterly. 'But I can't understand what they have to do with my sad predicament!'
    'A good deal!' said Snufkin. 'Don't you see? The