Oh, the sweet, fresh breath of the morning breeze, And the trumpet call of my mate! Oh, the fierce, wild wind that bends the trees Where the great hills sit in state! Oh, the tender twigs in the Jungle deeps! Oh, the soft, moist earth where the long grass sweeps!
Song of the Captive Elephant.
Mahmoud, swinging his wrinkled old trunk to and fro dejectedly, ignored the stack of fresh timothy which the Keeper had dumped on the floor of the Elephant House. There was a band of iron clasped tightly just above one of his great forefeet. Mahmoud had surged back in his discontent till the chain, attached to the iron and to a ring in the floor, creaked with the strain upon it. His broad ears flapped forward listlessly, but not far enough to conceal the moisture in his dim old eyes which gathered now and then into glistening drops that rolled down his cheeks and were lost in the huge wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. Duchess, his faithful mate, who stood at his side twisting up bunches of hay and tucking them into her mouth, understood and was sad. At intervals in her repast she would pause to stroke Mahmoud's furrowed cheek with the tip of her trunk. But her sorrowful mate was not to be wooed from his melancholy.
Presently, from a little distance up the Park walk leading to the door of the Elephant House, came a familiar tinkling sound that caused Mahmoud to turn his head in that direction with a show of interest. A boy was approaching, and at every step some straps of iron on his little crooked leg clanked together. The sound was not unlike that made by the iron on Mahmoud's leg. The boy's face was pale, but his eyes were blue and very bright. A little girl skipped along at his side. The boy's clothes were shabby, but the little girl's plumage was rich and as gay as that of some tropical bird. Perhaps it was this that caused the boy to call her "Princess," when he made slow and deferential response to her eager chatter. It was plain that she was accustomed to rule, for whenever she was admonished by the young woman in dark clothes who followed a few steps behind with a book under her arm, she would merely shrug her pretty shoulders. Her manner toward the boy was a trifle condescending, but it was also affectionate, for she called him "Toots."
The entire front of the Elephant House was open, for it was summer. When Toots and the Princess had reached the iron railing within a yard of Mahmoud's swaying trunk, they stopped. The young woman in dark clothes seemed to understand that this was their destination, for she seated herself on a bench at the side of the walk, and was soon deep in the pages of her book.
Mahmoud shuffled forward as far as the chain on his leg would let him, thrust forth his trunk and felt gently the iron on the boy's crippled leg.
"Oh, Toots, he knows you!" exclaimed the Princess. "That is what he did yesterday."
Though the Princess shrank back, Toots showed no fear. Appearing satisfied as to the boy's identity, Mahmoud turned to his mate, and they stood cheek by cheek, swaying their trunks in unison.
"They are talking again," said the Princess, with a little shriek of delight. "Toots, you must tell me what they are saying to each other."
Toots did not stir. A flush of pink had stolen into his pale cheeks. There was a far-away look in his eyes, yet they were sparkling. His lips were moving, but no sound came from them at first. Strange mumblings were coming from the cavernous mouths of the elephants. The Princess stamped her foot with authority and commanded:
"Toots, tell me, as you did yesterday, what the elephants are saying."
But already, in a low, monotonous voice, as though in a dream, the boy was interpreting the talk of Mahmoud and his mate.
"Behold, it is the little Limping Boy," said Mahmoud, with his lips close to the ear of Duchess. "My old eyes are dim, but with my two fingers have I felt the iron on his leg, and I know it is he."
"Verily, it is he, my Lord," answered Duchess, caressingly. "And with him again is the strange little bird without wings--or, mayhap the gaudy creature is of his own people."
"It is well. Do you recall, O Light of my Life, how the little Limping Boy stood at our door and talked softly to himself? I remember such a boy long, long ago in the Jungle, before the days of my captivity, only he was naked and had brown skin--as brown as that of my baby sister."
"I, too, saw and heard him, my Lord. I thought he talked of us and pitied us in our captivity."
Now Mahmoud ceased his talk and for a moment reflected deeply. At length he said:
"Lo, there are two worlds, O Light of my Life, the Master World and the Menial World; and few there be that stand between. I know not how it happens that we, thou and I, my beloved, are of the Menial World, but it is so. We be Menial People, and the little Limping Boy is of the Master People; yet it clings in my mind that he is nearer."
Again Mahmoud paused to reflect; but Duchess broke in with conviction, saying:
"My Lord, may it not be that the little Limping Boy is one that stands between?"
"That is a matter upon which I have pondered deeply," sighed Mahmoud. "It is evident that he understands our talk. He has the iron upon his leg, yet his talk is not the talk of the Menial People. Alas, I can not be sure on this point. These Master People have strange ways and a strange tongue. When their skins are dark, as they are in the jungle, their talk is not so difficult; but when their skins are white and covered with strange raiment, their words convey no meaning to my ears."
Mahmoud's head drooped again. He was very old, and, like all those who are burdened with years, he was wont to ponder sadly on the joys of his past. But presently he raised his head and seemed to be listening.
"Look, Friend of my Youth," he said, after a moment, "is it the chirp of our merry little gossip, the sparrow, that I hear?"
"No, my Lord," answered Duchess, soothingly, "Pwit-Pwit is late this morning. I tremble when I recall his boastful tale of yesterday; how he entered the cage of the lioness' treacherous young cubs."
"Be calm, beloved," said Mahmoud, "the cubs are not too young to know the Law of the Menial People."
It appeared that Duchess, being of the weaker sex, and devoted to her domestic duties, had but a vague notion of the Law. So Mahmoud, with much dignity, enlightened her in these words:
"It is the Law of the Menial People, O Joy of my Heart, that Pwit-Pwit, the sparrow, shall go and come at his pleasure throughout the Menial World, enjoying the hospitality and protection of all. And of a truth this is meet, for is not the sparrow official news-gatherer and gossip for all the Menial People? Verily, is not he the only one of our world that is not locked fast in a yard or in an iron cage by the Master People? Lo, when we of the Menial World were brought by our masters from the forests and plains and jungles to the place of our captivity, Pwit-Pwit was already here to give us welcome. Therefore, it is the Law of the Menial World that no claw nor tooth shall be raised against him."
When Mahmoud had finished his discourse the sparrow suddenly dropped out of the sky at his feet with a chirp and a cheerful toss of his head.
"You are late to breakfast this morning, little one," said Mahmoud; "but I waited for you, O Messenger of Cheer, though my beloved mate has eaten a few mouthfuls, being hungrier than I."
"I would have been here sooner," answered the sparrow, "but I found it necessary to give one of those young lions a lesson. He forgot about the Law, and tried to catch me in his mouth. But I was too quick for him. You should have seen me then. I flew at his eyes and gave them a good pecking. Then I had to go and tell his mother. Didn't you hear her roaring at the little upstart to behave himself? Oh, you can trust me to educate those young lions in the Law."
"Verily, I heard the mother lion roar, and feared for you," said Mahmoud. "But come, there are some choice grass seeds in the deep wrinkles of my neck, and I will scatter more there for you. If you are tired, you can step on the end of my trunk and I will lift you up to your breakfast."
But Pwit-Pwit said that he was not at all tired. He flew up to Mahmoud's shoulders and was soon pecking greedily at the seeds which he found in the wrinkles between the great flapping ears. Duchess had resumed her repast, and Mahmoud began attacking the stack of timothy with manifest appetite. As the two friends, one so huge and the other so tiny, took their breakfast together, the sparrow chirped a constant torrent of gossip, which Toots, never hesitating, interpreted for the Princess. At length only some scattering wisps were left of the stack that the Keeper had brought for the old elephant. Mahmoud gathered them up, sweeping his trunk over the floor daintily, then rolled them into a little bundle, which he thrust half-way into the side of his mouth. Then, rolling his trunk about the ends of the wisps containing the dried grass seeds, he tore them off, and holding them back over his head, said to Pwit-Pwit:
"Are you there, little one?"
"Here I am, right between your ears," chirped the sparrow.
"Look then for the large round seeds," said Mahmoud. "But first brace yourself well behind my ear, little one, for I am going to blow the dust out of your breakfast. Dust is not good for the stomach."
With these words Mahmoud blew a little puff of wind through his trunk into the handful of grass seed about which it was curled, and then dropped the seeds in a little shower right at Pwit-Pwit's feet.
"Thank you," said the sparrow. "You have found me a delicious breakfast." And he pecked away at the seeds until he could hold no more.
Then Pwit-Pwit noticed that Mahmoud had stopped eating and was swinging his trunk about in a mournful manner.
"What's the matter, old chap?" chirped the sparrow. "Have you lost your appetite?"
"Alas!" sighed the old elephant, "I pine for the roar of my native Jungle, little one. I long to plunge through the great, wild forest and feel the swish of the branches at my sides. Even the chatter of idle and foolish monkeys would be music in my ears."
