"Garm," I said, "we are going back to Stanley at Kasauli.
Kasauli--Stanley; Stanley Kasauli." And I repeated it twenty
times. It was not Kasauli really, but another place. Still I
remembered what Stanley had said in my garden on the last night,
and I dared not change the name. Then Garm began to tremble; then
he barked; and then he leaped up at me, frisking and wagging his
tail.
"Not now," I said, holding up my hand. "When I say 'Go,' we'll
go, Garm." I pulled out the little blanket coat and spiked collar
that Vixen always wore up in the Hills to protect her against
sudden chills and thieving leopards, and I let the two smell them
and talk it over. What they said of course I do not know; but it
made a new dog of Garm. His eyes were bright; and he barked
joyfully when I spoke to him. He ate his food, and he killed his
rats for the next three weeks, and when he began to whine I had
only to say "Stanley--Kasauli; Kasauli--Stanley," to wake him up.
I wish I had thought of it before.
My chief came back, all brown with living in the open air, and
very angry at finding it so hot in the plains.
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