Маугли

           WhatLittleToomailikedwastoscrambleupbridlepathsthatonlyanelephantcouldtake;thedipintothevalleybelow;theglimpsesofthewildelephantsbrowsingmilesaway;therushofthefrightenedpigandpeacockunderKalaNag’sfeet;theblindingwarmrains,whenallthehillsandvalleyssmoked;thebeautifulmistymorningswhennobodyknewwheretheywouldcampthatnight;thesteady,cautiousdriveofthewildelephants,andthemadrushandblazeandhullabalooofthelastnight’sdrive,whentheelephantspouredintothestockadelikebouldersinalandslide,foundthattheycouldnotgetout,andflungthemselvesattheheavypostsonlytobedrivenbackbyyellsandflaringtorchesandvolleysofblankcartridge.

           Evenalittleboycouldbeofusethere,andToomaiwasasusefulasthreeboys.Hewouldgethistorchandwaveit,andyellwiththebest.Butthereallygoodtimecamewhenthedrivingoutbegan,andtheKeddah—thatis,thestockade—lookedlikeapictureoftheendoftheworld,andmenhadtomakesignstooneanother,becausetheycouldnothearthemselvesspeak.ThenLittleToomaiwouldclimbuptothetopofoneofthequiveringstockadeposts,hissun-bleachedbrownhairflyingloosealloverhisshoulders,andhelookinglikeagoblininthetorch-light.Andassoonastherewasalullyoucouldhearhishigh-pitchedyellsofencouragementtoKalaNag,abovethetrumpetingandcrashing,andsnappingofropes,andgroansofthetetheredelephants.