his little pig's eyes, whisking his tiny tail,
and flapping his great ears; while the children clapped their hands as
they stood in the shade with Miss Ross and Lizzy, and Captain Dyer and
Lieutenant Leigh close behind.

"There's no call to be afraid, miss," says Harry, saluting as he saw
Miss Ross shrink back; and seeing how, when he said a few words in
Hindustani, the great animal minded him, they stopped being scared, and
gave Harry fruit and cakes to feed the great beast with.

You see, out there in that great dull place, people are very glad to
have any little trifle to amuse them, so you mustn't be surprised to
hear that there used to be quite a crowd to see Harry Lant's
performances, as he called them. But all the same, I didn't like his
upsetting old Chunder Chow; and it seemed to me even then, that we'd
managed to make another black enemy--the black ayah being the first.

However, Harry used to go on making old _Nabob_ kneel down, or shake
hands, or curl up his trunk, or lift him up, finishing off by going up
to his head, lifting one great ear, saying they understood one another,
whispering a few words, and then shutting the ear up again, so as the
words shouldn't be lost before they got into the elephant's brain, as I
explained, because they'd got a long way to go. Then Harry would lie
down, and let the great beast walk backwards and forwards all over him,
lifting his great feet so carefully, and setting them down close to
Harry, but never touching him, except one day when, just as the great
beast was passing his foot over Harry's breast, a voice called out
something in Hindustani--and I knew who it was, though I didn't see--
when _Nabob_ puts his feet down on Harry's chest, and Lizzy gave a great
scream, and we all thought the poor chap would be crushed; but not he:
the great beast was took by surprise, but only for an instant, and, in
his slow quiet way, he steps aside, and then touches Harry all over with
his trunk; and there was no more performance that day.

"I've got my knife into Master Chunder for that," says Harry to me, "for
I'll swear that was his voice." And I started to find he had known it.

"I wouldn't quarrel with him," I says quietly, "for it strikes me he's
got his knife into you."

"You've no idea," says Harry, "what a nip it was. I thought it was all
over; but all the same, the poor brute didn't mean it, I'd swear."

STORY ONE, CHAPTER FOUR.

Who could have thought just then