‘Man-Pack and Wolf-Pack have cast me out,’ said Mowgli.  ’Now I will hunt alone in the jungle.’

‘And we will hunt with thee,’ said the four cubs.

So Mowgli went away and hunted with the four cubs in the jungle from that day on.  But he was not always alone, because, years afterward, he became a man and married.

But that is a story for grown-ups.

MOWGLI’S SONG

THAT HE SANG AT THE COUNCIL ROCK WHEN HE DANCED ON SHERE KHAN’S HIDE.

The Song of Mowgli—­I, Mowgli am singing.  Let the
   jungle listen to the things I have done. 
Shere Khan said he would kill—­would kill!  At the gates
   in the twilight he would kill Mowgli, the Frog! 
He ate and he drank.  Drink deep, Shere Khan, for when
   wilt thou drink again?  Sleep and dream of the kill. 
I am alone on the grazing-grounds.  Gray Brother come to me! 
   Come to me, Lone Wolf, for there is big game afoot! 
Bring up the great bull-buffaloes, the blue-skinned herd-bulls
   with the angry eyes.  Drive them to and fro as I order. 
   Sleepest thou still, Shere Khan?  Wake, O wake!  Here come I,
   and the bulls are behind. 
Rama the king of the buffaloes stamped with his foot. 
   Waters of the Waingunga whither went Shere Khan? 
He is not Sahi to dig holes, nor Mor, the Peacock, that he
   should fly.  He is not Mang, the Bat, to hang in the branches. 
   Little bamboos that creak together tell me where he ran?
Ow! he is there. Ahoo! he is there.  Under the feet of Rama lies
   the Lame One!  Up, Shere Khan!  Up and kill!  Here is meat; break the
   necks of the bulls. 
Hsh! he is asleep.  We will not wake him, for his strength is very
   great.  The kites have come down to see it.  The black ants have
   come up to know it.  There is a great assembly in his honour.
Alala! I have no cloth to wrap me.  The kites will see that I am
   naked.  I am ashamed to meet all these people. 
Lend me thy coat, Shere Khan.  Lend me thy gay striped coat that
   I may go to the Council Rock. 
By the Bull that bought me I made a promise—­a little promise. 
   Only thy coat is lacking before I keep my word. 
With the knife, with the knife that men use, with the knife
   of the hunter, I will stoop down for my gift. 
Waters of the Waingunga, Shere Khan gives me his coat for the love
   that he bears me.  Pull, Gray Brother! 
   Pull, Akela!  Heavy is the hide of Shere Khan. 
The Man Pack are angry.  They throw stones and talk child’s talk. 
   My mouth is bleeding.  Let me run away. 
Through the night, through the hot night, run swiftly with me, my
   brothers.  We will leave the lights of the village and go to the
   low moon. 
Waters of the Waingunga, the Man Pack have cast me out.  I did them
   no harm, but they were afraid of