Natalie Babbitt's prose is as clean as her pen line, yet unexpectable: the Mammoth Mountains "were the only point of interest in a countryside that neither rolled nor dipped but lay as flat as if it had been knocked unconscious." One is taller, decidedly more clifflike, its crest shrouded in mist—and mystery—for on stormy, rainy nights "an undiscovered creature would lift its voice and moan. . ." This is Kneeknock Rise, at its foot the village of Instep, whose inhabitants thrive on their fearsome distinction and from the fair that annually brings the envious to eat and dance. . . and tremble at the voice of the Megrimum. So that when Egan, taunted by Cousin Ada, climbs as he's thought to do, dreamed of doing. . . and returns to tell the unforbidding tale, why—"He doesn't know what he's saying." Vagabond Uncle Ott, encountered at the top, knew, and put it into the rhyme of a cat playing mouse with a string: "He didn't thank me when/ I told him he was wrong./ It's possible—just possible—/ He knew it all along." The wind-up takes longer than it need though the Megrimum restored is an exquisite bit of megrimummery. As, earlier, is Uncle Anson's kneeknock-bird clock 'killed' by disagreeable Sweetheart the cat because "the Megrimum wants them to." But Megrimum or not, Kneeknock Rise has Uncle Ott's left-behind dog Annabelle, "old and fat and beautiful" and not the coward Ada calls her. Like The Search. . . delicious.