He crept along outside the wall till he came to Messua’s hut, and looked through the window into the room. There lay Messua, gagged, and bound hand and foot, breathing hard, and groaning: her husband was tied to the gaily-painted bedstead. The door of the hut that opened into the street was shut fast, and three or four people were sitting with their backs to it. Mowgli knew the manners and customs of the villagers very fairly. He argued that so long as they could eat, and talk, and smoke, they would not do anything else; but as soon as they had fed they would begin to be dangerous. Buldeo would be coming in before long, and if his escort had done its duty, Buldeo would have a very interesting tale to tell. So he went in through the window, and, stooping over the man and the woman, cut their thongs, pulling out the gags, and looked round the hut for some milk. Messua was half wild with pain and fear (she had been beaten and stoned all the morning), and Mowgli put his hand over her mouth just in time to stop a scream. Her husband was only bewildered and angry, and sat picking dust and things out of his torn beard. “I knew--I knew he would come,” Messua sobbed at last. “Now do I KNOW that he is my son!” and she hugged Mowgli to her heart. Up to that time Mowgli had been perfectly steady, but now he began to tremble all over, and that surprised him immensely. “Why are these thongs? Why have they tied thee?” he asked, after a pause. “To be put to the death for making a son of thee--what else?” said the man sullenly. “Look! I bleed.” Messua said nothing, but it was at her wounds that Mowgli looked, and they heard him grit his teeth when he saw the blood. “Whose work is this?” said he. “There is a price to pay.” “The work of all the village. I was too rich. I had too many cattle. THEREFORE she and I are witches, because we gave thee shelter.” “I do not understand. Let Messua tell the tale.” “I gave thee milk, Nathoo; dost thou remember?” Messua said timidly. “Because thou wast my son, whom the tiger took, and because I loved thee very dearly. They said that I was thy mother, the mother of a devil, and therefore worthy of death.” “And what is a devil?” said Mowgli. “Death I have seen.” The man looked up gloomily, but Messua laughed. “See!” she said to her husband, “I knew--I said that he was no sorcerer. He is my son--my son!” “Son or sorcerer, what good will that do us?” the man answered. “We be as dead already.” “Yonder is the road to the Jungle”--Mowgli pointed through the window. “Your hands and feet are free. Go now.” “We do not know the Jungle, my son, as--as thou knowest,” Messua began. “I do not think that I could walk far.” “And the men and women would be upon our backs and drag us here again,” said the husband.