terror to their hearts. As he ran he began to hiss softly.

Colonel Hare, with his arm about Winnie, walked toward the bungalow.

"Lock your pet up, Kit," he called over his shoulder, "and come in to
tea."

Kathlyn spoke soothingly to the leopard, scratched his head behind the
ears, and shortly a low satisfied rumble stirred his throat, and his
tail no longer slashed about. She led him to his own cage, never
ceasing to talk, locked the door, then turned and walked thoughtfully
toward the bungalow.

She was wondering what this gift was that put awe into the eyes of the
native keepers on her father's wild animal farm and temporary peace in
the hearts of the savage beasts. She realized that she possessed it,
but it was beyond analysis. Often some wild-eyed keeper would burst in
upon her. Some newly captive lion or tiger was killing itself from
mere passion, and wouldn't the Mem-sahib come at once and talk to it?
There was a kind of pity in her heart for these poor wild things, and
perhaps they perceived this pity, which was fearless.

"She gets a little from me, I suppose," Colonel Hare had once answered
to a query, "for I've always had a way with four footed things. But I
think Ahmed is right. Kathlyn is heaven born. I've seen the night
when Brocken would be tame beside the pandemonium round-about. Yet
half an hour after Kit starts the rounds everything quiets down. The
gods are in it."

The living-room of the bungalow was large and comfortable. The walls