As
the sun rose it changed into bubbling seas of red gold, churned off,
and let the low rays stripe the dried grass on which Mowgli and Bagheera
were resting. It was the end of the cold weather, the leaves and
the trees looked worn and faded, and there was a dry, ticking rustle
everywhere when the wind blew. A little leaf tap-tap-tapped furiously
against a twig, as a single leaf caught in a current will. It roused
Bagheera, for he snuffed the morning air with a deep, hollow cough,
threw himself on his back, and struck with his fore-paws at the nodding
leaf above.

"The year turns," he said. "The Jungle goes forward. The Time of New
Talk is near. That leaf knows. It is very good."

"The grass is dry," Mowgli answered, pulling up a tuft. "Even
Eye-of-the-Spring [that is a little trumpet-shaped, waxy red flower
that runs in and out among the grasses]--even Eye-of-the Spring is shut,
and... Bagheera, IS it well for the Black Panther so to lie on his back
and beat with his paws in the air, as though he were the tree-cat?"

"Aowh?" said Bagheera. He seemed to be thinking of other things.

"I say, IS it well for the Black Panther so to mouth and cough, and howl
and roll? Remember, we be the Masters of the Jungle, thou and I."

"Indeed, yes; I hear, Man-cub." Bagheera rolled over hurriedly and sat
up, the dust on his ragged black flanks. (He was just casting his winter
coat.) "We be surely the Masters of the Jungle! Who is so strong as
Mowgli? Who so wise?" There was a curious drawl in the voice that made
Mowgli turn to see whether by any chance the Black Panther were making
fun of him, for the Jungle is full of words that sound like one thing,
but mean another. "I said we be beyond question the Masters of the
Jungle," Bagheera repeated. "Have I done wrong? I did not know that the
Man-cub no longer lay upon the ground. Does he fly, then?"

Mowgli sat with his elbows on his knees, looking out across the valley
at the daylight. Somewhere down in the woods below a bird was trying
over in a husky, reedy voice the first few notes of his spring song.
It was no more than a shadow of the liquid, tumbling call he would be
pouring later, but Bagheera heard it.

"I said the Time of New Talk is near," growled the panther, switching
his tail.

"I hear," Mowgli answered. "Bagheera, why dost thou shake all over? The
sun is warm."

"That is Ferao, the scarlet woodpecker," said Bagheera. "HE has not
forgotten. Now I, too, must rememb