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so of mad buil goin' about the country killin' peaceful villagers. It's hard luck, all right, but there's no way out of it."

"Well, I'm glad they don't go musth in Australia," Nita said. "There's my good little Ali coming out—he's had enough sand." She went to meet him, returning with him proudly, one little arm round his trunk. It was pretty to see the gentleness with which the elephant moved, taking each step with watchful care for the tiny feet so near his mammoth hoofs. George looked at them delightedly.

"Make a nice pair, don't they? I'd like to see any one lay a finger on Nita if one of my bulls was handy. I guess he'd get treated like the Indian bulls treat a tiger."

Nita came running to him.

"George! Teach me the words you say to them."

George shook his head.

"Can't do it. Every keeper's got his own talk, an' his bulls understand him—but he doesn't pass it on. Might if your Dad ever took it into his head to make a keeper of you, but I don't see him doin' it, exactly. Anyhow, not as long as you've got that old crock Merrylegs "

Further utterance was cut short by Nita's leaping on him and pounding him with her fists, to which he submitted much as his elephants would have done, laughing at her.

"Look—there's old Ram comin', an' I wouldn't say that he won't go musth if he sees you hittin' me. An' I believe I've got some more choc'late somewhere." Nita