“And be careful you don’t bump into anything,”
said Mrs. Stumptail. “Sliding down hill
is all right if you don’t bump into anything.
You must be careful, Umboo. Don’t slide
down any hills unless you ask me first.”
“I won’t,” promised the baby elephant.
“But tell me more about it, Keedah. Did
you ever slide down hill?”
“Many a time. I was with the herd last
year when we swam this same river. I could swim
then, too, and when we came to the hill I climbed
up. Then I came down lots faster than I walked
up, and I went splash into the river. That didn’t
hurt at all,” he said to Umboo’s mother.
“No, it doesn’t hurt to slide into the
water,” said the old elephant lady. “If
you do any sliding, Umboo, see that you splash into
the water, and not on the hard ground.”
“I will, after I learn to swim,” spoke
Umboo.
A little later the herd of elephants were safely across
the jungle river. Some rested in the shade of
trees, pulling off the low branches and the palm nuts.
Others rolled in the mud, to make a sort of coating
over their skins, to keep off the flies. Others
went to the top of the hill to slide down, and Keedah
went with them.
“Oh, mother! I wish I could slide!”
said Umboo, when he saw what fun the other elephants
were having. They really did slide down hill,
just as otters do, only the otter, or beaver, likes
to have water on his slide, and the elephants did
not care whether their slide was wet or dry.
Down they came, over sticks and stones, and their skin
was so tough that they never got hurt. And yet
a fly could bite through that same hide! But
that is because a fly has a very fine, sharp bill,
which can go through the tiny pores, or holes, in the
elephant’s skin.
“Oh, I want to slide!” said Umboo to his
mother. “I’m big enough, and if I
can’t swim when I splash in the water, you can
be near to pull me out. Please let me slide down
hill!”
“And did she let you?” asked Snarlie,
the tiger, as the elephant stopped in the telling
his story long enough to take a bite of hay.
“Did she let you, Umboo?”
UMBOO LEARNS SOMETHING
Umboo, the big circus elephant, swallowed the sweet
hay he had been chewing, and was about to keep on
with the telling of his story about the things that
happened to him when he was a little chap in the Indian
jungle, when a lot of men came in the tent where the
animals were standing about, or resting in their cages.
“Oh, now we can’t hear any more of the
story,” said Chako, the big monkey, to Gink
the little, long-tailed chap.
“Why can’t we?” Gink wanted to know.
“Because the circus is going to move on.
Our cage will be put on the steam cars, and away we
will go, and Umboo, and the rest of the elephants,
will be put in big box-cars.”
“Won’t we ever see him again, or hear
more of his story?” asked Gink, who had not
been with the circus very long, and so did not know
much about it.
