"Well, look to it then that thou dost not kill the man-cub. He is no
tree trunk to sharpen thy blunt claws upon. But what are those Master
Words? I am more likely to give help than to ask it"--Bagheera stretched
out one paw and admired the steel-blue, ripping-chisel talons at the end
of it--"still I should like to know."

"I will call Mowgli and he shall say them--if he will. Come, Little
Brother!"

"My head is ringing like a bee tree," said a sullen little voice over
their heads, and Mowgli slid down a tree trunk very angry and indignant,
adding as he reached the ground: "I come for Bagheera and not for thee,
fat old Baloo!"

"That is all one to me," said Baloo, though he was hurt and grieved.
"Tell Bagheera, then, the Master Words of the Jungle that I have taught
thee this day."

"Master Words for which people?" said Mowgli, delighted to show off.
"The jungle has many tongues. I know them all."

"A little thou knowest, but not much. See, O Bagheera, they never thank
their teacher. Not one small wolfling has ever come back to thank
old Baloo for his teachings. Say the word for the Hunting-People,
then--great scholar."

"We be of one blood, ye and I," said Mowgli, giving the words the Bear
accent which all the Hunting People use.

"Good. Now for the birds."