“He is dead — a year.”

“And he?” Mowgli pointed to the child.

“My son that was born two Rains ago. If thou art a Godling, give him the Favour of the Jungle, that he may be safe among thy — thy people, as we were safe on that night.”

She lifted up the child, who, forgetting his fright, reached out to play with the knife that hung on Mowgli’s chest, and Mowgli put the little fingers aside very carefully.

“And if thou art Nathoo whom the tiger carried away,” Messua went on, choking, “he is then thy younger brother. Give him an elder brother’s blessing.”

“Hai-mai! What do I know of the thing called a blessing? I am neither a Godling nor his brother, and —