small notice of the children, but turned all my attention to their big
companion. I had not watched him long before he had a bite; for, as the
religion of the Hindoos forbids them to take life, the river swarms
with fishes.

The old fellow did not stir; his little eyes watched his line eagerly;
he was no novice in "the gentle craft." He was waiting till it was time
to draw in his prize.

At the end of his line, as he drew it up, was dangling one of those
golden tench so abundant in the Ganges.

When Soupramany perceived what a fine fish he had caught, he uttered
one of those long, low gurgling notes of satisfaction by which an
elephant expresses joy; and he waited patiently, expecting Jim to take
his prize off the hook and put on some more bait for him. But Jim, the
little rascal, sometimes liked to plague Old Soup. He nodded at us, as
much as to say, "Look out, and you'll see fun, now!" Then he took off
the fish, which he threw into a water-jar placed there for the purpose,
and went back to his place without putting any bait on Old Soup's
hook. The intelligent animal did not attempt to throw his line into the
water. He tried to move Jim by low, pleading cries. It was curious to
see what tender tones he seemed to try to give his voice.

Seeing that Jim paid no attention to his calls, but sat and laughed as
he handled his own line, Old Soup went up to him, and with his trunk
tried to turn his head in the direction of the bait-box. At last, when
he found that all he could do would not induce his willful friend to
help him, he turned round as if struck by a sudden thought, and,
snatching up in his trunk the box that held the bait, came and laid it