“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 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.”