Then out of the silence, urged by a sense of duty, Morris cried in a harsh, cracked, emotional voice, not in the least like his own, “Severn! Prince! Come back! What are you going to do?”
His last words came as if he were half-choked, and then like the rest he stood gazing, with a strange clammy moisture gathering in his hands and upon his brow, for as the two boys drew near, the elephant suddenly raised its head, threw up its trunk, and uttered a shrill trumpeting sound.
As the defiant cry ceased, Singh stepped forward in advance of his companion, and shouted a few words in Hindustani.
The elephant lowered its trunk and stood staring at the boy, as if wonderingly, before coming slowly forward in its heavy, ponderous way, crashing down the green herbage beneath the orchard trees, and its great grey bulk parting the twigs of a tree that stood alone, and beneath whose shade the monster stopped.
The boys stood still now, and Singh uttered a short, sharp order in Hindustani once more.
Instantly, but in a slow, ponderous way, the great beast slowly subsided, kneeling in the long grass, while Singh went up quite close, with the animal watching him sharply the while, and laying out its trunk partly towards him, so that when close up the boy planted one of his feet in the wrinkling folds
of the monstrous nose, caught hold of the huge flapping ear beside him, climbed quickly up, and the next minute was astride the tremendous neck and uttering another command in the Indian tongue. The result was that the elephant raised its ears slightly so that Singh could nestle his legs beneath; and as he settled himself in position a merry smile spread about his lips.
“Come on, Glyn,” he cried. “It’s all right. Take my hand.”
Glyn obeyed, and as if fully accustomed to the act, he rapidly climbed up and settled himself behind his companion.