Then , perhaps , a little rain falls , and all the trees and the bushes and the bamboos and the mosses and the juicy-leaved plants wake with a noise of growing that you can almost hear , and under this noise runs , day and night , a deep hum . THAT is the noise of the spring -- a vibrating boom which is neither bees , nor falling water , nor the wind in tree-tops , but the purring of the warm , happy world . Up to this year Mowgli had always delighted in the turn of the seasons . It was he who generally saw the first Eye-of-the-Spring deep down among the grasses , and the first bank of spring clouds , which are like nothing else in the Jungle . His voice could be heard in all sorts of wet , star-lighted , blossoming places , helping the big frogs through their choruses , or mocking the little upside-down owls that hoot through the white nights . Like all his people , spring was the season he chose for his flittings -- moving , for the mere joy of rushing through the warm air , thirty , forty , or fifty miles between twilight and the morning star , and coming back panting and laughing and wreathed with strange flowers . The Four did not follow him on these wild ringings of the Jungle , but went off to sing songs with other wolves . The Jungle People are very busy in the spring , and Mowgli could hear them grunting and screaming and whistling according to their kind . Their voices then are different from their voices at other times of the year , and that is one of the reasons why spring in the Jungle is called the Time of New Talk . But that spring , as he told Bagheera , his stomach was changed in him . Ever since the bamboo shoots turned spotty-brown he had been looking forward to the morning when the smells should change . But when the morning came , and Mor the Peacock , blazing in bronze and blue and gold , cried it aloud all along the misty woods , and Mowgli opened his mouth to send on the cry , the words choked between his teeth , and a feeling came over him that began at his toes and ended in his hair -- a feeling of pure unhappiness , so that he looked himself over to be sure that he had not trod on a thorn . Mor cried the new smells , the other birds took it over , and from the rocks by the Waingunga he heard Bagheera 's hoarse scream -- something between the scream of an eagle and the neighing of a horse . There was a yelling and scattering of Bandar-log in the new-budding branches above , and there stood Mowgli , his chest , filled to answer Mor , sinking in little gasps as the breath was driven out of it by this unhappiness . He stared all round him , but he could see no more than the mocking Bandar-log scudding through the trees , and Mor , his tail spread in full splendour , dancing on the slopes below . `` The smells have changed , '' screamed Mor . `` Good hunting , Little Brother ! Where is thy answer ? '' `` Little Brother , good hunting ! '' whistled Chil the Kite and his mate , swooping down together .
The two baffed under XXXXX 's nose so close that a pinch of downy white feathers brushed away .
Mowgli day first flittings morning mosses night splendour tree-tops twilight