D'ye mind that--
I mean, look ye well to it!"
"What should they know of England who only England know?" said
Miaow.
"Is that a conundrum?" asked the Moo Kow.
"No; it's poetry," said the Miaow.
"I know England," said Pi Bol prancingly. "I used to go from the
Bank to Islington three times a day--I mean," he added hurriedly,
"before I became a screw--I should say, a screw-gun horse."
"And I," said the Moo Kow, "am terrible. When the young women and
children in the village see me approach they fly shriekingly. My
presence alone has scattered their sacred festival--The Sundes Kool
Piknik. I strike terror to their inmost souls, and am more feared
by them than even Kreep-mows, the insidious! And yet, behold! I
have taken the place of the mothers of men, and I have nourished
the mighty ones of the earth! But that," said the Moo Kow, turning
her head aside bashfully, "that is Anudder Story."
A dead silence fell on the pool.
"And I," said Miaow, lifting up her voice, "I am the horror and
haunter of the night season. When I pass like the night wind over
the roofs of the houses men shudder in their beds and tremble.
When they hear my voice as I creep stealthily along their balconies
they cry to their gods for succor. They arise, and from their
windows they offer me their priceless household treasures--the
sacred vessels dedicated to their great god Shiv--which they call
'Shivin Mugs'--the Kloes Brosh, the Boo-jak, urging me to fly them!
And yet," said Miaow mournfully, "it is but my love-song! Think ye
what they would do if I were on the war-path.
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