It would indeed have gone hard with her, but at that very moment Groar
appeared on the scene, and, taking in what was happening at a single
glance, he promptly went to the rescue. A shambling and clumsy object
he looked, moving the fore and hind legs of the same side
simultaneously, but in Gean's eyes at that moment he was the most
beautiful thing she had ever seen. She kept up her kicking until Groar
came up to her, and then he joined in with might and main, nourishing
his four feet in the very face of the lion and daring him to do his
worst.

But the lion thought better of it. It was all very well tackling one
giraffe, but to face four such pairs of heels was more than he cared
about, and when Groar took him unawares in the midst of all the
kicking by suddenly striking him a heavy blow with his neck, the King
of Beasts concluded it was not a good time to prove his sovereignty,
and, with a sulky growl, slunk off to his lair.

As soon as the lion turned his back, poor Gean sank down utterly
exhausted, her small head waving wearily to and fro, her long, black
tongue hanging out of her mouth, and her breath coming in short,
painful gasps. Groar comforted her as well as he could, caressing her
tenderly, and every now and then drawing himself up to his full height
on the lookout for danger. He never left her until she was able to
move slowly back to the low woods, and then only to gather for her
some tender shoots of camel-thorn and mimosa, and any young, tender
leaves he could find.

Gean took them all very gently, and seemed humbled and grateful, and
when, a little later on, he suggested that she should let him always