snapped Gray Brother over his shoulder, as he laid himself down to gallop, and Mowgli followed, thinking.

At any other season the news would have called all the Jungle together with bristling necks, but now they were busy hunting and fighting and killing and singing. From one to another Gray Brother ran, crying, “The Master of the Jungle goes back to Man!

Come to the Council Rock.” And the happy, eager People only answered, “He will return in the summer heats. The Rains will drive him to lair. Run and sing with us, Gray Brother.”

“But the Master of the Jungle goes back to Man,” Gray Brother would repeat.

“Eee — Yoawa? Is the Time of New Talk any less sweet for