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Snake figures spreading out over the dirt plain behind us, Charmers wnere derelict ant hills, riddled with holes, denote the abode of the cobras, of which we have already killed two on our doorstep. So far no good. They have piped and played in vain. We wait for the noonday sun to add its potency to the charm. Meanwhile out of an innocent-looking basket are pulled a half dozen captive cobras to dance for us, their wicked hoods outspread. They dance and then with a 'swush' they give a wicked lunge and strike, are picked up by the tail or anywhere, and gladly of themselves slide back under the dark cover of the basket again.
The charmers say the snakes are hibernating during the monsoon, far, far underground, so far they can't hear the pipings. So they probably won't come out any more anyway, until it gets hot again. Menagerie We have scorpions, too; two whopping ones, picked out of the lab., and a tribe of monks, perfect pests; lots of fun. Can't leave windows open at night or they are all through the house, and anyway their funny faces are always peering in at the windows, squatting, hopping on the sills, finally all retreating to the big trees out back, where they attend to their own affairs with swinging and shrieking.
A man brought two tiny, tiny civet cat kittens. They don't mew, but cry like birds. Our menagerie is growing so fast that we have transferred it to a special
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[facing THE CATCH A 'jUNGLEMAN.'
A SLENDER LORIS, A KIND OF LEMUR