It was the twelfth night of the Sa'-zada stories. For eleven evenings Tiger, and Leopard, and the others had told of their manner of life, with more or less relevancy. This night Sa'-zada, the little Master, was to speak of his jungle and forest experience.
Magh, the Orang, was filled with a joyous anticipation. Perched as usual on Hathi's broad forehead, she gave expression to little squeaks of enjoyment.
Once even she stuck out her long, elastic under-lip and broke into the little jungle song she always had resource to when pleasantly excited:
"Co-oo-oo-oo-oo! Co-wough, wough-oo!" with a rising inflection that made the listener's ears tingle. She even danced a modest can-can on Hathi's patient old head.
The Keeper came briskly up the walk, and patting Hathi's trunk affectionately as it was held out to him, sat on the grass with his back against Mooswa's side.
"Well, Comrades," he commenced, "before I came to a state of friendship with the Jungle Dwellers, I was like a great many others of my kind, and thought the only pleasure to be got from animals was in killing them."
"It is the beginning of a true talk," commented Pardus.
"And, so, in that time I hunted a great deal," continued Sa'-zada. "When I first went to Burma to live, my bungalow was just on the edge of the Jungle, and some of the Dwellers were always forcing their presence upon me—either Snakes, or Jackals, or Jaruk the Hyena, or the Bandar-Log; and one night even a Rogue Elephant——"
"Hum-p-p-ph! he should have been prodded with a sharp tusk," commented Hathi.
"A Rogue Elephant," continued Sa'-zada, "came down and played basket-ball with my garden and bamboo cook-house. Gidar the Jackal, with a dozen companions, used to gut my kitchen, and then sit out in the moonlight and howl at me in derision."