“He did not come upon the night when I sent him the word. No, he was trumpeting and running and roaring through the valleys in the moonlight. His trail was like the trail of three elephants, for he would not hide among the trees. He danced in the moonlight before the houses of the Man-Pack.

I saw him, and yet he would not come to me; and I am the Master of the Jungle!”

“It was the Time of New Talk,” said the panther, always very humble. “Perhaps, Little Brother, thou didst not that time call him by a Master-word? Listen to Ferao, and be glad!”

Mowgli’s bad temper seemed to have boiled itself away. He lay back with his head on his arms, his eyes shut. “I do not know — nor do I care,” he said sleepily.