of the Jungle.
But think how small he is, said the Black Panther, who would have
spoiled Mowgli if he had had his own way. How can his little head carry
all thy long talk?
Is there anything in the jungle too little to be killed? No. That is
why I teach him these things, and that is why I hit him, very softly,
when he forgets.
Softly! What dost thou know of softness, old Iron-feet? Bagheera
grunted. His face is all bruised today by thy--softness. Ugh.
Better he should be bruised from head to foot by me who love him than
that he should come to harm through ignorance, Baloo answered very
earnestly. I am now teaching him the Master Words of the Jungle that
shall protect him with the birds and the Snake People, and all that hunt
on four feet, except his own pack. He can now claim protection, if he
will only remember the words, from all in the jungle. Is not that worth
a little beating?
Well, look to it then that thou dost not kill the man-cub. He is no
tree trunk to sharpen thy blunt claws upon. But what are those Master
Words? I am more likely to give help than to ask it --Bagheera stretched
out one paw and admired the steel-blue, ripping-chisel talons at the end
of it-- still I should like to know.
I will call Mowgli and he shall say them--if he will. Come, Little
Brother!
My head is ringing like a bee tree, said a sullen little voice over
their heads, and Mowgli slid down a tree trunk very angry and indignant,
adding as he reached the ground: I come for Bagheera and not for thee,
fat old Baloo!
That is all one to me, said Baloo, though he was hurt and grieved.
Tell Bagheera, then, the Master Words of the Jungle that I have taught
thee this day.
Master Words for which people? said Mowgli, delighted to show off.
23