ent-peg
over the tender nails of the forefeet. Moti Guj never trampled the life
out of Deesa on these occasions, for he knew that after the beating was
over, Deesa would embrace his trunk and weep and call him his love and
his life and the liver of his soul, and give him some liquor. Moti Guj
was very fond of liquor--arrack for choice, though he would drink
palm-tree toddy if nothing better offered. Then Deesa would go to sleep
between Moti Guj's forefeet, and as Deesa generally chose the middle of
the public road, and as Moti Guj mounted guard over him, and would not
permit horse, foot, or cart to pass by, traffic was congested till Deesa
saw fit to wake up.

There was no sleeping in the daytime on the planter's clearing: the
wages were too high to risk. Deesa sat on Moti Guj's neck and gave him
orders, while Moti Guj rooted up the stumps--for he owned a magnificent
pair of tusks; or pulled at the end of a rope--for he had a magnificent
pair of shoulders--while Deesa kicked him behind the ears and said he
was the king of elephants. At evening time Moti Guj would wash down his
three hundred pounds' weight of green food with a quart of arrack, and
Deesa would take a share, and sing songs between Moti Guj's legs till it
was time to go to bed. Once a week Deesa led Moti Guj down to the river,
and Moti Guj lay on his side luxuriously in the shallows, while Deesa
went over him with a coir-swab and a brick. Moti Guj never mistook the
pounding blow of the latter for the smack of the former that warned him
to get up and turn over on the other side. Then Deesa would look at his
feet and examine his eyes, and turn up the fringes of his mighty ears in
case of sores or budding ophthalmia. After inspection the two would
"come up with a song from the sea," Moti Guj, all black and shining,
waving a torn tree branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and Deesa
knotting up his own long wet hair.

It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa felt the return of the
desire to drink deep. He wished for an orgy. The little draughts that
led nowhere were taking the manhood out of him.

He went to the planter, and "My mother's dead," he said, weeping.

"She died on the last plantation two months ago, and she died once
before that when you were working for me last year," said the planter,
who knew something of the ways of nativedom.

"Then it's my aunt, and she was just the same as a mother to me," said
Deesa, weeping more than ever. "She has