AndthisshedoessowellthatthereisnospringintheworldliketheJunglespring。
Thereisonedaywhenallthingsaretired，andtheverysmells，astheydriftontheheavyair，areoldandused。Onecannotexplainthis，butitfeelsso。Thenthereisanotherday——totheeyenothingwhateverhaschanged——whenallthesmellsarenewanddelightful，andthewhiskersoftheJunglePeoplequivertotheirroots，andthewinterhaircomesawayfromtheirsidesinlong，draggledlocks。Then，perhaps，alittlerainfalls，andallthetreesandthebushesandthebamboosandthemossesandthejuicy-leavedplantswakewithanoiseofgrowingthatyoucanalmosthear，andunderthisnoiseruns，dayandnight，adeephum。THATisthenoiseofthespring——avibratingboomwhichisneitherbees，norfallingwater，northewindintree-
tops，butthepurringofthewarm，happyworld。
UptothisyearMowglihadalwaysdelightedintheturnoftheseasons。ItwashewhogenerallysawthefirstEye-of-the-Springdeepdownamongthegrasses，andthefirstbankofspringclouds，whicharelikenothingelseintheJungle。Hisvoicecouldbeheardinallsortsofwet，star-lighted，blossomingplaces，helpingthebigfrogsthroughtheirchoruses，ormockingthelittleupside-downowlsthathootthroughthewhitenights。
Likeallhispeople，springwastheseasonhechoseforhisflittings——moving，forthemerejoyofrushingthroughthewarmair，thirty，forty，orfiftymilesbetweentwilightandthemorningstar，andcomingbackpantingandlaughingandwreathedwithstrangeflowers。TheFourdidnotfollowhimonthesewildringingsoftheJungle，butwentofftosingsongswithotherwolves。TheJunglePeopleareverybusyinthespring，andMowglicouldhearthemgruntingandscreamingandwhistlingaccordingtotheirkind。Theirvoicesthenaredifferentfromtheirvoicesatothertimesoftheyear，andthatisoneofthereasonswhyspringintheJungleiscalledtheTimeofNewTalk。