I dance on the hide of Shere Khan , but my heart is very heavy . My mouth is cut and wounded with the stones from the village , but my heart is very light , because I have come back to the jungle . Why ? These two things fight together in me as the snakes fight in the spring . The water comes out of my eyes ; yet I laugh while it falls . Why ? I am two Mowglis , but the hide of Shere Khan is under my feet . All the jungle knows that I have killed Shere Khan . Look -- look well , O Wolves ! Ahae ! My heart is heavy with the things that I do not understand . The White Seal Oh ! hush thee , my baby , the night is behind us , And black are the waters that sparkled so green . The moon , o'er the combers , looks downward to find us At rest in the hollows that rustle between . Where billow meets billow , then soft be thy pillow , Ah , weary wee flipperling , curl at thy ease ! The storm shall not wake thee , nor shark overtake thee , Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas ! Seal Lullaby All these things happened several years ago at a place called Novastoshnah , or North East Point , on the Island of St. Paul , away and away in the Bering Sea . Limmershin , the Winter Wren , told me the tale when he was blown on to the rigging of a steamer going to Japan , and I took him down into my cabin and warmed and fed him for a couple of days till he was fit to fly back to St. Paul 's again . Limmershin is a very quaint little bird , but he knows how to tell the truth . Nobody comes to Novastoshnah except on business , and the only people who have regular business there are the seals .
They come XXXXX the summer months by hundreds and hundreds of thousands out of the cold gray sea .
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