“Soupramany has taken them out fishing,” said their father.

“Why, isn’t Soupramany your great war-elephant?” I cried.

“Exactly so.  You cannot have forgotten Soupramany!”

“Of course not.  I was here, you know, when he had that fight with the elephant who went mad while loading a transport with bags of rice down yonder.  I saw the mad elephant when he suddenly began to fling the rice into the river.  His ‘mahout’ tried to stop him, and he killed the mahout.  The native sailors ran away to hide themselves, and the mad elephant, trumpeting, charged into this inclosure.  Old Soupramany was here, and so were Jim and Bessy.  When he saw the mad animal, he threw himself between him and the children.  The little ones and their nurses had just time to get into the house when the fight commenced.”

“Yes,” said the major.  “Old Soup was a hundred years old.  He had been trained to war, and to fight with the rhinoceros, but he was too old to hunt then.”

“And yet,” said I, becoming animated by the recollections of that day, “what a gallant fight it was!  Do you remember how we all stood on this porch and watched it, not daring to fire a shot lest we should hit Old Soupramany?  Do you remember too, his look when he drew off, after fighting an hour and a half, leaving his adversary dying in the dust, and walked straight to the ‘corral,’ shaking his great ears which had been badly torn, with his head bruised, and a great piece broken from one of his tusks?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the major.  “Well, since then, he is more devoted to my dear little ones than ever.  He takes them out whole days, and I am perfectly content to have them under his charge.  I don’t like trusting Christian children to the care of natives; but with Old Soup I know they can come to no harm.”

[Illustration:  “BESIDE THE CHILDREN STOOD OLD SOUP WITH A LARGE BAMBOO ROD IN HIS TRUNK.”]

“What! you trust children under ten years of age to Soup, without any other protection?”

“I do,” replied the major.  “Come along with me, if you doubt, and we will surprise them at their fishing.”

I followed Major Daly, and, after walking half a mile along the wooded banks of the river, we came upon the little group.  The two children—­Jim, the elder, being about ten—­both sat still and silent, for a wonder, each holding a rod, with line, cork, hook and bait, anxiously watching the gay corks bobbing in the water.  Beside them stood Old Soup with an extremely large bamboo rod in his trunk, with line, hook, bait, and cork, like the children’s.  I need not say I took 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.