And the baby held aloft was crowing in glee and kicking its fat little legs frantically.  The elephant lowered it tenderly to the ground and picked up the boy in its stead and lifted him into the air, while he laughed and clapped his hands.  The two mahouts raised their palms respectfully to their foreheads and cried to their animals: 

“Salaam kuro! (Salute!)”

And the two trunks were lifted together in the Salaamut, the royal salute given to Kings and Viceroys.

Frank’s mahout explained.

“Gharib Parwar (Protector of the Poor), the pagan ignorant Hindus around here say that the elephant is a god.  Aye, and that his master, Durro Mut Sahib, is one too. That’s like enough.  Well, Allah alone knows the truth of everything.  But those two are more than mere man and animal, that is certain. Mul, Moti! (Go on, Pearl!)”

And he kicked his elephant under the ears with his bare feet to quicken her pace.  But Frank bade him stop.  Despite the man’s optimism he could not believe it wise to allow tiny tots like that to play with such a huge, clumsy animal.  He was sure that their mother would be horrified if she knew it.  He loved children, and felt that it was madness to allow these babies to continue their dangerous pastime.

“Have they a mother?” he asked the mahout.

“Yes, Huzoor.  The mem-Sahib (lady) is doubtless within the house.”

“I want to dismount,” said Frank; and he grasped the surcingle rope as the elephant sank jerkily to its knees.  Then sliding down from the pad he entered the gate and passed up through the garden towards the bungalow.  As he did so a dainty little figure in white, a charmingly pretty girl with golden hair and blue eyes, came out on the verandah.  Seeing him she walked down the steps to meet him and held out her hand, saying in a pleasant, musical voice: 

“You are Mr. Wargrave, of course?  Welcome to Ranga Duar.”

Frank, uncomfortably conscious of his dishevelled appearance and travel-stained attire, almost blushed as he took off his hat and quickened his steps to meet her, wondering who this delightful young girl—­she looked about nineteen—­could be.  Possibly an elder sister of the children outside.  But as they shook hands she said: 

“I am the wife of the Political Officer here.  My husband, Colonel Dermot, has just gone up to the Mess to see your C.O., Major Hunt.”

Frank was astonished.  This pretty young girl, scarcely more than a child herself, the mother of the two chubby babies!  Touched by her kind manner he shook her hand warmly and said: 

“Thank you very much for your welcome, Mrs. Dermot.  It’s awfully good of you, and I—­I assure you I appreciate it a lot just now.  I was coming to tell you—­I wonder do you know that your babies—­I suppose they are yours—­are playing what seems to me rather a dangerous game with an elephant at the side of the house.”