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 away from the flock to a secluded valley, where he could practice the cry without harm. "Ow-w-w-w-wh," and again "Ow-w-w-w-w-wh." The sound was terrifying. Any gray leader of a pack might have been proud of it.

At last Meng Hu grew tired of making wolf howls. He tried his voice at imitating the calls of other animals. A cow—"Am-oo-ooh." Sun-awakening rooster—"Cockadoodledoo." A tiger; Meng Hu gave the buzzing sound of pleasure, the open-mouthed roar of anger, the coughing "woof" of pain. He found it easy to give the various calls of hou erh (the monkey). He squealed in a manner most pig-like. He imitated the "Onkee Onkee" of his master's donkey. He gave the neigh of a horse.

Day after day Meng Hu practiced in the hills, imitating the calls of many animals, usually in a low voice so that his sheep would receive no fright. Lonesomeness no longer oppressed him. He had a toy more entrancing than a lute with ivory bands. He was wolf, and tiger, and clucking biddy by turns. He knew all cries of the wild.