THE STORY OF DAGO

BY

ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON

[Illustration: "IT WAS HER SWINGING AND JERKING ON THE ROPE THAT RANGTHE BELL. "]

THE STORY OF DAGO

BY

ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON

AUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE COLONEL, " "BIG BROTHER, ""OLE MAMMY'S TORMENT, " "THE GATE OF THEGIANT SCISSORS, " "TWO LITTLE KNIGHTSOF KENTUCKY, " ETC. 

Illustrated by

ETHELDRED B. BARRY

BOSTONL. C. PAGE & COMPANY1900

Copyright, 1900

BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY(Incorporated)

TO

"Gin the Monk"

WHOSE PRANKS ARE LINKEDWITH THE BOYHOOD MEMORIES OF DR. GAVIN FULTON, ONE OF THE BEST OF PHYSICIANS AND FRIENDS, THIS STORY OF DAGOIS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

CONTENTS

 PAGE

 I. THIS IS THE STORY THAT DAGO TOLD TO THE MIRROR-MONKEY ON MONDAY 1

 II. WHAT DAGO SAID TO THE MIRROR-MONKEY ON TUESDAY 16

 III. WHAT THE MIRROR-MONKEY HEARD ON WEDNESDAY 32

 IV. THE TALE THE MIRROR-MONKEY HEARD ON THURSDAY 46

 V. WHAT DAGO TOLD ON FRIDAY 60

 VI. WHAT DAGO SAID TO THE MIRROR-MONKEY ON SATURDAY 72

 VII. WHAT DAGO TOLD THE MIRROR-MONKEY ON SUNDAY 92

VIII. DAGO BIDS FAREWELL TO THE MIRROR-MONKEY 102

ILLVSTRATIONS

 PAGE

"IT WAS HER SWINGING AND JERKING ON THE ROPE THAT RANG THEBELL" _Frontispiece_

"THE GARDENER FISHED HER OUT OF THE FOUNTAIN" 9

"HER HANDS WERE FOLDED IN HER LAP" 19

MATCHES'S FUNERAL 25

"SHE FAIRLY STIFFENED WITH HORROR" 43

"AT LAST THE BLUE CUSHION WAS EMPTY, AND I SAT DOWN ON IT" 48

"'OH, YOU LITTLE TORMENT!' SHE CRIED" 63

"THEIR VOICES RANG OUT LUSTILY" 73

"ALL WENT WELL UNTIL WE REACHED AN ALLEY CROSSING" 81

"GOOD-BYE! OLD FELLOW!" 103

THE STORY OF DAGO. 

CHAPTER I. 

THIS IS THE STORY THAT DAGO TOLD TO THE MIRROR-MONKEY ON MONDAY. 

Here I am at last, Ring-tail! The boys have gone to school, thankfortune, and little Elsie has been taken to kindergarten. Everybody inthe house thinks that I am safe up-stairs in the little prison of aroom that they made for me in the attic. I suppose they never thoughthow easy it would be for me to swing out of the open window and climbdown the lightning-rod. Wouldn't Miss Patricia be surprised if sheknew that I am down here now in the parlour, talking to you, andsitting up here among all these costly, breakable things!

I have been wanting to get back into this room ever since that firstmorning that I slipped in and found you sitting here in thelooking-glass, but the door has been shut every time that I have triedto come in. Do you remember that morning? You were the first ring-tailmonkey that I had seen since I left the Zoo, and you looked so muchlike my twin brother, who used to swing with me in the tangled vinesof my native forests, and pelt me with cocoanut-shells, and chatter tome all day long under those hot, bright skies, that I wanted to put myarms around you and hug you; but the looking-glass was between us. Some day I shall break that glass, and crawl back behind there withyou. 

It is a pity that you are dumb and do not seem to be able to answerme, for if you could talk to me about the old jungle days I would notbe so homesick. Still, it is some comfort to know that you are notdeaf, and I intend to come in here every morning after the children goto school; that is, every morning that I find the door open. I've hada very exciting life in the past, and I think that you'll find myexperiences interesting. 

Of course I'll not begin at the beginning, for, being a ring-tailmonkey yourself, you know what life is like in the great tropicalforests. Perhaps it would be better to skip the circus part, too, forit was a very unhappy time that followed, after I was stolen from homeby some men who came on a big ship, and carried me away to be sold toa travelling showman. 

It makes my back ache to this day to think of the ring-master's whip. I was as quick to learn as any of the other monkeys who were intraining, but an animal who has done nothing all his life but climband play can't learn the ways of a human being all in one week. I wastaught to ride a pony and drive a team of greyhounds, and to sit at atable and feed myself with a silver folk. One half-hour I was made tobe a gentleman, and wear a dress suit, and tip my hat to the ladies, and the next I would be expected to do something entirely different;be a policeman, maybe, and arrest a rowdy dog in boxing-gloves. Oh, Icouldn't begin to tell you the things I was expected to do, fromdrilling like a soldier to wheeling a doll carriage and smoking apipe. Sometimes when I grew confused, and misunderstood the signalsand did things all wrong, the ring-master would swing his whip untilit cracked like a pistol, and shout out, in a terrible voice, "Oh, youstupid little beast! What's the matter with you?" That alwaysfrightened me so that it gave me the shivers, and then he would shoutat me again until I was still more confused and terrified, andcouldn't do anything to please him. 

Stupid little beast indeed! I wished sometimes that I could have hadhim captive, back in the jungles of the old home forest, just to haveseen which would have been the stupid one there. How long would ithave taken him to have learned an entirely different way of living, Iwonder. How many moons before he could swing by his hands and hunt forhis food in the tree-tops? He might have learned after awhile wherethe wild paw-paws hang thickest, and where the sweetest, plumpestbananas grow; but when would he ever have mastered all the wood-loreof the forest folk, --or gained the quickness of eye and ear and nosethat belongs to all the wise, wild creatures? Oh, how I longed to seehim at the mercy of our old enemies, the Snake-people! One of thosepythons, for instance, "who could slip along the branches as quietlyas moss grows. " That would have given him a worse fit of shivers thanthe ones he used to give me. 

I'll not talk about such a painful subject any longer, but you may besure that I was glad when something happened to the show. The ownerlost all his money, and had to sell his animals and go out of thebusiness. After that I had a very comfortable winter in a zoologicalgarden out West, near where we stranded. Then an old white-haired manfrom California bought me to add to his private collection of monkeys. He had half a dozen or so in his high-walled garden. 

It was a beautiful place, hot and sunny like my old home, and full ofpalm-trees and tangled vines and brilliant flowers. The most beautifulthing in it was a great rose-tree which he called Gold of Ophir. Itshook its petals into a splashing fountain where goldfish were alwaysswimming around and around, and it was hard to tell which was thebrightest, the falling rose-leaves, or the tiny goldfish flashing byin the sun. 

There was a lady who used to lie in a hammock under the roses everyday and smile at my antics. She was young, I remember, and verypretty, but her face was as white as the marble mermaid in thefountain. The old gentleman and his wife always sat beside her whenshe lay in the hammock. Sometimes he read aloud, sometimes theytalked, and sometimes a long silence would fall upon them, when thesplashing of the fountain and the droning of the bees would be theonly sound anywhere in the garden. 

When they talked, it was always of the same thing: the children shehad left at home, --Stuart and Phil and little Elsie. I did not listenas closely as I might have done had I known what a difference thosechildren were to make in my life. I little thought that a day wascoming when they were to carry me away from the beautiful garden thatI had grown to love almost like my old home. But I heard enough toknow that they were as mischievous as the day is long, and that theykept their poor old great-aunt Patricia in a woful state of nervousexcitement from morning till night. I gathered, besides, that theirfather was a doctor, away from home much of the time. That was whytheir great-aunt had them in charge. 

Their mother had come out to her father's home in California to growstrong and well. The sun burned a pink into the blossoms of theoleander hedges, and the wind blew life into the swaying branches ofthe pepper-trees, but neither seemed to make her any better. Afterawhile she could not even be carried out to her place in the hammock. Then they sent for Doctor Tremont and the children. 

The first that I knew of their arrival, the two boys came whoopingdown the paths after the gardener, shouting, "Show us the monkeys, David! Show us the monkeys! Which one is Dago, and which one isMatches?"

I did not want to come down for fear that Stuart might treat me as hehad done Elsie's kitten. I had heard a letter read, which told how hehad tried to cure it of fits. He gave it a shock with his father'selectric battery, and turned the current on so strong that he killedit. Not knowing but that he might try some trick on me, I held backuntil I saw him feeding peanuts to Matches. I never could bear her. She is the only monkey in the garden that I have never been onfriendly terms with, so I came down at once to get my share ofpeanuts, and hers, too, if possible. 

I must say that I took a great fancy to both the boys; they were sofriendly and good-natured. They each had round chubby faces, and hardlittle fists. There was a wide-awake look in their big, honest, grayeyes, and their light hair curled over their heads in little tightrings. Elsie was only five, --a restless, dimpled little bunch ofmischief, always getting into trouble, because she would try to doeverything that her brothers did. 

The gardener fished her out of the fountain twice in the week she wasthere. She was reaching for the goldfish with her fat little hands, and toppled in, head first. Phil began the week by getting a bee-stingon his lip, and a bite on the cheek from a parrot that he was teasing. As for Stuart, I think he had climbed every tree on the place beforethe first day was over, and torn his best clothes nearly off his back. The gardener had a sorry time of it while they stayed. He complainedthat "a herd of wild buffalo turned loose to rend and destroy" wouldnot have done as much damage to his fruit and flowers as they. "Not asthey means to do it, I don't think, " he said. "But they're sochock-full of _go_ that they fair runs away with their selves. " Thegardener's excitement did not long last, however. 

[Illustration]

There came a day when there was no noise in the garden. The boyswandered around all morning without playing, now and then wiping theireyes on their jacket sleeves, and talking in low tones. Once theythrew themselves down on the grass and hid their faces, and cried andsobbed, until their grandfather came out and led them away. The blindswere all drawn next morning, and the gardener came and cut down nearlyall his lilies, and great armfuls of the Gold of Ophir roses to carryinto the house. 

Another quiet day went by, and then there was such a rumbling ofcarriage wheels outside the garden, that I climbed up a tree andlooked over the high walls. There was a long, slow procession windingup the white mountain road toward a far-away grove of pines. I knewthen what had happened. They were taking the children's mother to thecemetery, and they would have to go home without her. "Poor children, "I thought, "and poor old great-aunt Patricia. "

The next evening I heard the old gentleman tell David to bring Matchesand me into the house. The next thing I knew I was dropped into a bigbandbox with holes in the lid, and somebody was buckling ashawl-strap around it. Then I heard the old gentleman say to DoctorTremont, "Tom, I don't want to add to the inconveniences of yourjourney, but I should like to send these monkeys along to help amusethe boys. Maybe they'll be some comfort to them. Dago is for Stuart, and Matches is for Phil. It would be a good idea to keep them in theirboxes to-night on the sleeping-car. They are unusually well behavedlittle animals, but it would be safer to keep them shut up until theboys are awake to look after them. "

You can imagine my feelings when I realised that I was to be sentaway. I shrieked and chattered with rage, but no one paid anyattention to me. I was obliged to settle down in my box in sulkysilence. In a little while I could feel myself being carried down theporch steps. Then the carriage door slammed and we jolted along in thedark for a long time. I knew when we reached the depot by the brightlight streaming through the holes in my box-lid. I was carried up thesteps into the sleeping-car, and for the next quarter of an hour itseemed to me that my box changed position every two minutes. Theporter was getting us settled for the night He was about to poke thebox that held me under the berth where little Elsie and her nurse wereto sleep, when Stuart called him from the berth above, into which hehad just climbed. So I was tossed up as if I had been an ordinarypiece of baggage, the porter little knowing what was strapped socarefully inside the bandbox. 

Doctor Tremont and Phil had the section just across the aisle fromours, and Phil carried his box up the step-ladder himself, and stowedMatches carefully away in one corner before he began to take off hisshoes. When the curtains were all drawn and the car-lights turned downlow so that every one could sleep, Stuart sat up and began unbucklingthe strap around my box. I knew enough to keep still when he took thelid off and gently stroked me. I had no intention of being sent backto the baggage-car, if keeping quiet would help me to escape theconductor's eyes. 

Stuart stroked me for a moment, and then, cautiously drawing aside hiscurtains, thrust his head out and looked up and down the aisle. Everything was quiet. Then he gave the softest kind of a whistle, sofaint that it seemed little more than the echo of one; but Philheard, and instantly his head was poked out between his curtains. Stuart held me up and grinned. Immediately Phil held up Matches andgrinned. After a funny pantomime by which, with many laughablegestures, each boy made the other understand that he intended to allowhis pet freedom all night, they drew in their heads and lay down. 

Stuart wanted me to sleep on the pillow beside him, but I was stillsulky, and retired to my box at his feet. In spite of the jar andrumble of the train I slept soundly for a long time. It must have beensomewhere about the middle of the night when I was awakened all of asudden by a fearful crash and the feeling that I was pitching headlongdown a frightful precipice. 

The next instant I struck the floor with a force that nearly stunnedme. When I gathered my wits together I found myself in the middle ofthe aisle, bruised and sore, with the bandbox on top of me. 

We had been going with the usual terrific speed of a fast express, down steep mountain grades, sweeping around dizzy curves, and now wehad come to a sudden stop without reason or warning. It gave the trainsuch a tremendous jar that windows rattled, baggage lurched from theracks, the porter sprawled full-length on the floor as I had done, andmore than one head was bumped unmercifully against the hard woodworkof the berths. Everybody sprang up to ask what was the matter. Babiescried and women scolded and men swore. All I could do was to whimperwith pain and fright until Stuart came scrambling after me. Myshoulder was bruised and my head aching, and no one can imagine myterrible fright at such a rude awakening. If I had not been in thebox, I might have saved myself when the crash came, but I waspowerless to catch at anything when it went bump over on to the floor. 

The brakeman and conductor came running in to see what was the matter. Nobody knew why the train had stopped. It was several minutes beforethey discovered the cause, but I had found out while Stuart wasclimbing back to bed with me. Swinging by her hands from the bell-ropewhich ran down the centre of the car, was that miserable littlemonkey, Matches, making a fool of herself and everybody else. Who butthat little imp of mischief would have done such a thing as to get upin the middle of the night and go through a lot of gymnasticexercises on the bell-rope? It was her swinging and jerking on therope that rang the bell and brought the engine to that sudden stop. 

I don't know how the doctor settled it with the conductor. I know thatthere was a great deal said, and Matches and I were both sent back tothe baggage-car. All the rest of the journey I had an aching head anda bruised shoulder to keep me in mind of that hateful little Matches, and I resolved long before we reached home that I would do somethingto get even with her, before we had lived together a week. 

CHAPTER II. 

WHAT DAGO SAID TO THE MIRROR-MONKEY ON TUESDAY. 

Ring-tail, what do you think of Miss Patricia? I'm afraid of her. Thenight we came home she met us in the hall, looking so tall and severein her black gown, with those prim little bunches of gray curls oneach side of her face, that I went under a chair. Then I thought Imust have misjudged her, for there were tears in her eyes when shekissed the children, and I heard her whisper as she turned away, "poorlittle motherless lambs!" Still I have seen so many people in thecourse of my travels that I rarely make a mistake in readingcharacter. As soon as she caught sight of me I knew that my firstthought had been right. Her thin Roman nose went up in the air, andher sharp eyes glared at me so savagely that I could think of nothingelse but an old war eagle, with arrows in its talons. You may haveseen them on silver dollars. 

"Tom Tremont, " she exclaimed, "you don't mean to say that you havebrought home a _monkey_!" I wish you could have heard the disgust inher voice. "Of all the little pests in the world, they are certainlythe worst!"

"Yes, Aunt Patricia, " he answered. "They've been a great pleasure tothe boys. "

"_They!_" she gasped. "You don't mean to say that there are _two_!"Then she saw Matches climbing up on Phil's shoulder, and words failedher. 

"Yes; their grandfather gave each of the boys one of his pets. He saidthat they would be company for them on the way home, and would helpdivert their thoughts from their great loss. They grieved so, poorlittle lads. "

That softened Miss Patricia again, and she said nothing more about ourbeing pests. But when she passed me she drew her skirts aside as ifshe could not bear to so much as brush against me, and from that hourit has been war to the knife between us. 

Matches and I were given a little room up in the attic under theeaves, but at first we were rarely there during the day. The boystook us with them wherever they went. We had been there some timebefore we were left alone long enough for me to do any exploring. 

It was almost dark when that first chance came. I prowled around theattic awhile. Then I climbed out of the window and swung down by thevines that covered that side of the house, to the shutters of the roombelow. It happened to be Miss Patricia's room. As I perched on the topof the shutters, leaning over and craning my neck, I could see MissPatricia sitting there in the dusk beside her open window. Her handswere folded in her lap, and she was rocking gently back and forth in ahigh-backed rocking-chair, with her eyes closed. 

I thought it would be a good chance for me to take a peep into herroom, so I ventured to swing over and drop down on the window-sillbeside her, on all fours. I did it very quietly, so quietly, in fact, that I do not see how she could possibly have been disturbed; yet Igive you my word, Ring-tail, that woman shrieked until you could haveheard her half a mile. I never was so terrified in all my life. Itparalysed me for an instant, and then I sprang up by the vines to thelightning-rod, and streaked up it faster than any lightning ever camedown. Once in my room, I shook all the rest of the evening. 

[Illustration]

Matches said that Miss Patricia was probably worse scared than I was, but that's impossible. I never made a sound, and as for her--why, eventhe cook came running when Miss Patricia began to shriek, and she wasin the coal-cellar at the time, and is deaf in one ear. 

But Matches always disagreed with me in everything, and I was notsorry when we parted company. I'd better tell you about that next. Ithappened in this way. Stuart came into the room one day with SimWilliams, one of the boys who was always swarming up the stairs to seeus. Sim was older than Stuart, and one of those restless, inquiringboys, never satisfied with letting well enough alone. He was alwaysmaking experiments. This time he wanted to experiment on me with ahandful of tobacco, --coax me to eat it, you know, and see what effectit would have. But Stuart objected. He was afraid it might make mesick, and proposed trying it on Phil's monkey first. So they calledMatches, and the silly little beast was so pleased and flattered bytheir attention that she stood up and ate all they gave her. She didnot like it, I could see that, but they praised her and coaxed her, and it turned her head. Usually I received the most attention. 

It did not seem to hurt her any, so Sim offered me some. But I wouldnot take it. I folded my hands, first over my ears and then over myeyes. Then I held them over my mouth. Stuart thought it wonderfullysmart of me, and so did Sim, when he found that it was a trick thatStuart's grandfather had taught me. The old man had an ebonypaper-weight on his library table, which he called "the three wisemonkeys of Japan. " They were carved sitting back to back. The firstone had its paws folded over its eyes in token that it must never seemore than it ought to see, the second covered its ears that it mightnot hear more than it ought to hear, and the third solemnly held itspaws over its mouth, in order that it might never say more than itought to say. 

Stuart thought that I had forgotten the trick. He told Sim that it wasthe only one I knew. I was glad that he had never discovered that I ama trained monkey. If he had known how many tricks I can perform lifewouldn't have been worth living. It would have been like an endlesscircus, with me for the only performer. As it was, I was made to gothrough that one trick of the wise monkeys of Japan until I washeartily disgusted with it, or with anything else, in fact, thatsuggested the land of the Mikado. 

Stuart was in a hurry to show me off to the other fellows, so hecaught me up under his arm, and started off to the ball-ground, wheremost of them were to be found. Matches tried to follow us, but Simdrove her back, and the last I saw of her she was under the table, whimpering. It was a soft little complaining cry she had, almost likethe chirp of a sleepy bird, and when she made it her mouth drew upinto a pitiful little pucker. 

I slept in the laundry that night, for it was after dark when we gothome, and the boys were not allowed to carry a light up into theattic. Next day, when Stuart took me back to my room, there layMatches, stretched out on the floor as dead as a mummy. The tobaccohad poisoned her. Phil was crying over her as if his heart wouldbreak. He didn't know what had killed her, and the boys did not seefit to tell. As for me, I remembered my lesson, never to say any morethan I ought to say, and discreetly folded my hands over my mouthwhenever the subject was mentioned. 

I have no doubt but that I could have eaten as much tobacco as Matchesdid, and escaped with only a short illness, but the sickly littlemossback didn't have the constitution that we ring-tails have. She wasa poor delicate creature that the least thing affected. I couldn'thelp feeling sorry for her, and yet I was so glad to be rid of herthat I capered around for sheer joy. When I realised that never againwould I be kept awake by her snoring, never again would I be disturbedby her disagreeable ways, and that at last I was even with her forspilling me out of my berth on the sleeping-car, I swung on myturning-pole until I was dizzy. No one knew what a jubilee I had allalone that night in my little room under the eaves. 

Little did I dream of the humiliation in store for me. The next day Ifound that Matches was to have a funeral after school, and that I--I, who hated her--was to take the part of chief mourner. The boys tookoff my spangled jacket and dressed me up in some clothes that belongedto Elsie's big Paris doll. They left my own little cap on my head, butcovered it and me all over with a long crape veil that dragged on theground behind me and tripped me up in front when I tried to walk. Itwas pinned tightly over my face, and I nearly smothered, for it was ahot September afternoon. I sputtered and gasped under the nasty blackthing until I was almost choked. It was so thick I could scarcelybreathe through it, but the more I sputtered the more it pleased thechildren. They said I seemed to be really crying and sobbing under myveil, and that I was acting my part of chief mourner beautifully. 

All the children of the neighbourhood came to the funeral. There was aband to lead the procession; a band of three boys, playing on a Frenchharp, a jew's-harp, and a drum. Johnny Grey's Newfoundland dog washitched to the little wagon that held Matches's coffin. Phil drove, sitting up solemnly in his father's best high silk hat with its bandof crape. It was much too large for his head, and slipped down overhis curls until the brim rested on the tips of his ears. It wasserious business for Phil. His eyes were red and his dirty facestreaked with tears. He had grown to be very fond of Matches. 

Elsie and I followed on a tricycle. She had borrowed an old-fashionedscoop bonnet and a black silk apron from one of the neighbours. I satbeside her, feeling very hot and uncomfortable in the crape veil inwhich I was pinned. The others walked behind us, two by two, in a longprocession. We went five times around the circle, while SimWilliams, on the wood-shed roof, tolled a big auction bell, which hehad borrowed for the occasion. 

[Illustration: MATCHES'S FUNERAL. ]

When it was all over and the little mound over Matches's grave hadbeen covered with sod, the children were loath to stop playingfuneral. They had enjoyed it so much. Somebody said that we ought tomarch down the street so that people could see how funny I looked inmy crape veil; but I could stand it no longer. When I saw that theband was really moving toward the gate, and that Stuart was about tolift me into the wagon that had carried Matches's coffin, I shriekedwith rage and bit and tore at my veil until I was soon free. 

In about a minute it was nothing but a heap of rags and tatters, andPhil and Stuart were looking at it and then at each other withtroubled faces. "It's Aunt Patricia's!" one of them gasped. "And it isall torn to bits! Oh, Dago, you little mischief, how _could_ you? Nowwe'll catch it!" As if it were my fault. I don't know what happenedwhen the veil was taken back. Luckily I had no share in that part ofit, although Miss Patricia seemed to add that to the long list ofgrievances she had against me, and her manner toward me grew evenmore severe than before. 

The excitement of the funeral seemed to make Phil forget the loss ofMatches that day, but he cried next morning when Stuart came down withme on his shoulder, and there was no frisky little pet for him tofondle and feed. How he could grieve for her is more than I couldunderstand. I didn't miss her, --I was glad she was gone. Every dayPhil put fresh flowers on her grave. Sometimes it was only a stiff redcoxcomb or a little stemless geranium that had escaped the earlyfrost. Sometimes it was only a handful of bright grasses gone to seed. The doctor's neglected garden flaunted few blooms this autumn, but thelittle fellow, grieving long and sorely, did all he could to showrespect to Matches's memory. 

One day, nearly a month later, he went crying into his father'soffice, saying that Matches was gone. Stuart and Sim Williams had dugher up and sold her skeleton to a naturalist in the next block forfifty cents. He had just heard of it. I never saw a child so excited. He was sobbing so hard that he could not breathe except in greatchoking gasps, and it was some time before his father could quiet himenough to understand what he was talking about. 

Oh, but Doctor Tremont was angry! And yet it did not sound so bad whenStuart had explained it. He hadn't thought that he was doing anythingdishonest or unkind to Phil. He only thought what an easy way it wouldbe to make fifty cents. He didn't see how it could make any differenceto Phil, so long as he never found it out, and Sim had sworn not totell. The mound would still be there, and he could go on puttingflowers on it just the same. Sim was the one who had first spoken ofit, and Sim had half the money. 

I was not in the room all of the time, so I cannot tell what passedbetween Stuart and his father. I could hear the doctor's voice for along time, talking in low, deep tones, very earnestly. I know he saidsomething about Phil's being such a little fellow, and how the motherwho had gone away would have been grieved to know that he was sounhappy. What he said must have hurt Stuart more than a whipping, forwhen he came out his eyes were red, and he looked as solemn as anowl. 

He had promised his father several things. One was that he would havenothing more to do with Sim Williams, who was always leading him intotrouble, and another was that he would beg Phil's pardon, and dosomething to make up for the injury he had done him. Stuart thoughtand thought a long time what that should be. I know the doctor's talkmust have gone deep, for by and by he took _me_, --_Dago_, --hisbest-beloved possession, and gave me to Phil. 

At first the little fellow couldn't believe it. "Oh, brother!" hecried. "Do you really mean it? Is it for keeps?"

"Yes, it's for keeps, " said Stuart, grimly. Then he put his hands inhis pockets and walked away, whistling, although there were tears inhis eyes. But Phil ran after him with me in his arms. 

"Oh, I couldn't take _all_ of him, Stuart, " he said. "You are toogood. That would be too much, when you are so fond of him. But I'dlove to own half of him. Let's go partnerships. You claim half, andI'll claim half. "

Well, they decided to settle it that way, after a great deal oftalking. You can't imagine, Ring-tail, how queer it makes me feel tobe divided up in such a fashion. Sometimes I puzzle over it until I amdizzy. Which of me belongs to Stuart, and which of me belongs toPhil?

CHAPTER III. 

WHAT THE MIRROR-MONKEY HEARD ON WEDNESDAY. 

Do you see any gray hairs in my fur, Ring-tail, or any new wrinkles inmy face? Life in this family is such a wear and tear on the nervesthat I feel that I am growing old fast. So much happens every day. Something is always happening here. Really, I have had more excitingexperiences in one short forenoon, here in this house, than I used tohave in a whole month in the Zoo. It is bad for me to be in such astate of constant fright. 

The day after I was divided between Phil and Stuart, the boys of theneighbourhood had a Cuban war in our back yard. At least they startedto have one, --built a camp-fire and put up a tent and got theirammunition ready. Each side made a great pile of soft mud-balls, andit was agreed that as soon as a soldier was hit and spotted by themoist clinging stuff he was to be counted dead. You see the sport wasnot dangerous, only dirty. 

Stuart had his coat off, rolling mud-balls with all his might andmain. He was plastered with mud to his elbows, and his face was asight. 

Phil was busy sweeping up dead leaves for the camp-fire. Suddenly hedropped his old broom and went trotting off toward the house. "I amgoing to get something that will make it sound like a real war, " hesaid to me as he left. The boys did not hear him, and he came backpresently, with his little blue blouse all pouched out in front withthe things he had stuffed inside of it. 

I followed him into the tent and watched him unload. First there wasthe old powder-horn that always hangs over the hall mantelpiece. Thenthere was a big, wide-necked bottle, a large, clean handkerchief, anda spool of thread. "You see this, Dago?" he said to me. "Now you watchand see what happens. "

He tore the hem off the handkerchief, poured a lot of powder into themiddle of the square that was left, and then drew the corners togetherin one hand. With the other hand he squeezed the powder into a ballin the middle of the handkerchief, and wrapped the thread around andaround above it to keep the wad in place. 

"Now I'll put the wad of powder into the bottle, " he said, "and leavethe ends of the cloth sticking out for a fuse. See?"

I didn't know anything about gunpowder then, so I put my head close tohis as he squatted there in the tent, talking as he worked. "Come on, Dago, " he said, when it was ready, "I'll light this at the camp-fireand hold the bottle straight out in the air, so it won't hurtanything. It'll go off like a pistol--bim!--and make the boys jump outof their boots. " I thought it would be better for me to get out of theway if a racket like that was coming, so I scuttled up to the top ofthe tent-pole. 

Phil stooped down by the bonfire, held the rag to the coals until itbegan to smoulder, and swung around to point it at the fence. Therewas no sound. Evidently the bottle did not make as good a pistol as hethought it would. "The light's gone out, " he muttered, bringing thebottle cautiously around to look at it. Then he blew it, either tosee if he could rekindle it, or to make sure that the last spark wasout, --I could not tell. The next instant there was a puff, a flash, and then, jungles of my ancestors! such a noise and such screams andsuch a smell of burning powder! After that I could see nothing but atangled mass of boys, all legs and elbows, crowding around poor littlePhil to see what had happened. If war is like that, then my voice andvote are henceforth for peace, and peace alone. It's awful!

They carried him up-stairs, and his father was sent for, and theneighbours came running in as soon as the boys had scampered home withthe news. For awhile it seemed to me that the whole world wastopsy-turvy. Miss Patricia was so frightened she couldn't do a thing. I really pitied her, for her hands trembled and her voice shook, andeven the little bunches of gray curls bobbed up and down against herpale cheeks. I have had the shivers so often that I can sympathisewith any one whose nerves are unstrung from fright. 

The doctor turned us all out of the room, and I waited with the boysout by the alley-gate until he came down-stairs and told us how badlyPhil was burned. His front hair and eyebrows and beautiful long curlylashes were singed off, and his face was so full of powder that it wasas speckled as a turkey egg. The grains would have to be picked outone by one, --a slow and painful proceeding. The doctor could not tellhow badly his eyes were hurt until next day, but thought he would haveto lie in a dark room for a week at least, with his eyelids coveredwith cotton that had been dipped in some soothing kind of medicine. 

But that week went by, and many a long tiresome day besides, beforePhil could use his eyes again. They would not let me go into the roomthat first day, but after Phil had gone to sleep I hid under a chairin the upper hall, where Miss Patricia and the doctor were talking. "Tom, " said Miss Patricia, "what do you suppose made that child dosuch a reckless thing? Sometimes I think that boys are like monkeys, and are possessed by the same spirit of mischief. Neither seemsatisfied unless they are playing tricks or making some kind of adisturbance. They are always getting into trouble. "

"Yes, it does seem so, " answered the doctor, "but if we could lookdown to the bottom of a boy's heart, we would find that very little ofthe mischief that he gets into is planned for the purpose of makingtrouble. He does things from a pure love of fun, or from some suddenimpulse, and because he never stops to think of what it may lead to. Phil never stopped to think any more than Dago would have done, whatwould be the result of setting fire to the powder. You must rememberthat he is a very little fellow, Aunt Patricia. He is only eight. Weshouldn't expect him to have the reasoning powers of a man, and thecaution and judgment that come with age. "

Now I thought that that was a very sensible speech. It seemed toexcuse some of my own past mistakes. But Miss Patricia put on her oldwar-eagle look. 

"Really, Tom, " she said, "that sounds very well, but it is not whatwas taught in my day. A wholesome use of the rod after the first actof disobedience helps boys to stop and think before committing thesecond. It is a great developer of judgment, in my opinion. If you hadpunished Phil the first time he took down his grandfather'spowder-horn after you had forbidden him to touch it, he would neverhave taken it down the second time, and so would have been spared allthis suffering to-day. "

"I know you are right, Aunt Patricia, " said the doctor, "but I seem toremember my own boyhood so clearly, the way I thought and felt andlooked at things, that I have a very warm sympathy for my little ladswhen they go wrong. "

Miss Patricia rose to go down and prepare the lemon jelly that Philhad asked for, saying, as she moved toward the stairs:

"Well, I love Phil and Stuart dearly. I'm devoted to them, and willingto do anything in my power for their comfort, but I'm free to confessthat I don't understand them. I never did understand boys. " Then shetripped over me as I nearly upset us both in my frantic efforts to getout of her way. "Or monkeys either, " she added, shaking her skirts atme with a displeased "_Shoo_, " as if I had been a silly old hen. 

It was very quiet about the house for a few days, and then some jollytimes began in Phil's room. As soon as the boys were allowed to visithim I showed them some of my tricks, and kept them in roars oflaughter. I wheeled little Elsie's doll carriage around the room, andI sat up with the doctor's pipe in my mouth, I drilled and danced, andperformed as if I had been on a stage. It was wonderful to them, forthey had never guessed how much I knew. One day I sat down in a littlerocking-chair with a kitten in my arms, and rocked and hugged it as ifit had been a baby. It wasn't breathing when I stopped. The boys saidI hugged it too hard, but they kept on bringing me something to rockevery day, until five kittens and a rabbit had been put to sleep sosoundly that they wouldn't wake up. 

One day Phil was moved into Miss Patricia's room while his own wasbeing cleaned. Of course no boys were allowed to go in there with himexcept Stuart. They had a good time, for Miss Patricia told themstories and showed them the curious things in her cabinet and gavethem sugar-plums out of the big, blue china dragon that always standson top of it. But I could see that she was not enjoying their visit. She was afraid that Stuart's rockers would bump against her handsomeold mahogany furniture, or that they would scratch it in some way, orbreak some of her fine vases and jardinières. 

After awhile she was called down to the parlour to receive a guest, and there was nothing to amuse the boys. Time dragged so heavily thatPhil begged Stuart to bring his little rubber-gun--gumbo-shooter hecalled it. It was a wide rubber band fastened at each end to the tipsof a forked stick shaped like a big Y. They used buckshot to shootwith, nipping up a shot in the middle of the band with thumb andfinger, and drawing it back as far as possible before letting it fly. 

There was a fire in the grate, so they were comfortably warm even whenthey opened the window to take turns in shooting at the red berries onthe vine just outside. It was as much as Phil could do, lying on thesofa, to send a buckshot through the open window without hitting thepanes above, but Stuart cut a berry neatly from the vine at eachtrial. 

Soon he began to boast of his skill, and aimed his sling at an ancientportrait over the mantel. It was of a dignified old gentleman in ablack stock and powdered wig. He had keen, eagle eyes like MissPatricia, which seemed to follow one all around the room. 

"I bet I could hit that picture square in the apple of its eye, " hebragged, "right in its eye-ball, --bim!"

"Oh, don't try!" begged Phil. "It's our great-great-grandfather, andAunt Patricia thinks a lot of that picture. "

"'Course I wouldn't do it, " answered Stuart, taking another aim, "butI could, just as easy as nothing. " Still dallying with temptation, hepointed again at the frowning eye and drew the rubber slowly back. Allof a sudden, zip! The buckshot seemed to leap from the rubber of itsown accord, and Stuart fell back, frightened by what he had done. Around black hole the size of the buckshot gaped in the middle of theold-ancestor's eye-ball, as clean cut as if it had been made with apunch. It gave it the queerest, wickedest stare you can imagine. Itwas the first thing one would notice on looking about the room. Stuartwas white about the mouth. 

"Oh, dear, " sighed Phil, half crying, "if Aunt Patricia was only likethe wise monkeys of Japan, then she wouldn't notice. "

"But she will, " said Stuart; "she always sees everything. "

Phil had given me an idea. As soon as I heard Miss Patricia's silkskirts coming slowly through the hall with their soft swish, swish, Iran and sat in the doorway with my hands over my eyes, in token thatthere was something that she ought not to look at. It should haveamused her, for she knew the story of the ebony paper-weight, butinstead it seemed to arouse her suspicion that something was wrong. She looked at the boys' miserable faces and then all around the room, very slowly. It was so still that you could have heard a pin drop. Atlast she looked up at the picture. Then she fairly stiffened withhorror. She couldn't find a word for a moment, and Stuart cried out, "Oh, Aunt Patricia, I'm _so_ sorry. It was an accident. I didn't_mean_ to do it, truly I didn't!"

[Illustration: "SHE FAIRLY STIFFENED WITH HORROR. "]

There's no use harrowing up your feelings, Ring-tail, repeating allthat was said. Miss Patricia simply couldn't believe that the shotcould have struck dead centre unless the eye had been deliberatelyaimed at, and she thought something was wrong with a boy who wouldeven take aim at his great-great-grandfather's eyeball. 

Stuart was sent from the room in disgrace to report to his father, andthe last I saw of Miss Patricia that day, she was looking up at theportrait, and saying, with a mournful shake of her gray curls: "Howcan they do such things? I must confess that I don't understandboys!"

CHAPTER IV. 

THE TALE THE MIRROR-MONKEY HEARD ON THURSDAY. 

The day that Phil was able to go back to school was an unlucky one forme. It was so dolefully quiet everywhere. After he had gone, I slippeddown-stairs on the banister, but the blinds were drawn in the parlourand dining-room, and it was so still that the only sound to be heardwas the slow ticking of the great clock in the hall. When it gave aloud br-r-r and began to strike, I was so startled by the sudden noisethat I nearly lost my balance and turned a somersault over therailing. 

Then I saw Miss Patricia pass through the hall with her bonnet on, going out for a morning walk, and I thought it would be a fine timefor me to explore her room. It is full of interesting things that Ihad never been permitted to touch, for when the boys were allowed totake me into Miss Patricia's room, it was always on condition that Ishould be made to play little Jack Horner and sit in some corner undera chair or table. 

So as soon as the door closed behind her I hurried up-stairs to herroom. I had the best time that morning. There were all sorts of littlebottles on her wash-stand with good-smelling stuff in them. I pulledout the corks and emptied some of the bottles into the bowl to makethat smell good, too. Then I washed my teeth with her littlesilver-handled toothbrush, just as Phil does every morning, and putthe sponges to soak in the water-pitcher. 

After awhile I found the cut-glass vinaigrette that Miss Patriciacarries around with her. I have seen her use it a hundred times atleast, tipping back the silver lid, taking out the little glassstopper, and holding it to her nose with the remark that she neversmelled more refreshing salts. I have wanted very much to try itmyself. So now that I had the chance I did just as she does, --tippedback the lid, pulled out the stopper, and took a long, deep smell. Whew! It almost upset me. I thought it must be fire and brimstone thatshe had bottled up in there. It brought the tears to my eyes, andtook my breath for a minute so I had to sit and gasp. Then I droppedthe vinaigrette in the slop-jar and jumped down from the wash-stand. 

[Illustration: I sat down on the pincushion. ]

Her high, old-fashioned bureau tempted me next. There were rows androws of pins in a big blue pincushion, put in as evenly as if it hadbeen done by a machine. I pulled them out, one by one, and droppedthem down behind the bureau. It took some time to do that, but at lastthe blue cushion was empty, and I sat down on it to examine thejewel-case at my leisure. I found the prettiest things in it; anopen-faced locket, set around with pearls, with the picture of abeautiful young girl in it; a string of bright coral beads, and alittle carnelian ring, and a gold dollar hung on a faded ribbon. 

I forgot to tell you that Miss Patricia's bay window is full offlowers, and that she has a mocking-bird hanging in a cage above thewire stand that holds her ferns and foliage plants. The mocking-bird'sname is Dick. Now Dick hadn't paid any attention to me until I openedthe jewel-case. As I did so I knocked a hairbrush off the bureau tothe floor, which must have frightened him, for he began to cry out asif something had caught hold of him. Then he whistled, as if he werecalling a dog. You have no idea what a racket he made. I was afraidthat some of the servants might hear him and come to see what was thematter. Then, of course, I would be turned out of the room before Ihad finished examining all the pretty things. I turned around andshook my fist at him and chattered at him as savagely as I knew how, but he kept on, first making that hoarse cry and then whistling as ifcalling to a dog. 

I determined to stop him in some way or another, so, not waiting toput down the gold dollar or the little carnelian ring, which weretightly clenched in one hand, I sprang down from the bureau. Runningup the wire flower-stand below the cage, I shook my fist directlyunder his beak. It only made him noisier than ever, and he flew aboutthe cage like something crazy. 

"Be still, won't you? you silly thing!" I shrieked, and in mydesperation I made a grab through the bars at his tail-feathers. Awhole handful came out, and that seemed to make him wilder thanbefore. He beat himself against the top of the cage and screamed soloud that I thought it would be better to leave before any one heardhim and came in. 

So I jumped across to the cabinet near the window, where the big bluedragon sat. Then I remembered the sugar-plums inside and stopped forjust one taste. I lifted off the dragon's ugly head and was reachingmy hand down inside for one of those delicious sweetmeats, when inwalked Miss Patricia. My! I was scared! I hadn't expected her back sosoon. 

I dropped the dragon's old blue head on the floor and was out of thewindow like a shot. There was a cedar-tree reaching up past thewindow, and I ran out on one of the limbs and hid myself among itsthick branches. I could see her but she couldn't see me. She walkedall around the room, and looked at the wash-stand and the bureau andat Dick's tail-feathers scattered among the window-plants and then atthe blue dragon's head, smashed all to bits on the floor. Then shepicked up the locket, lying face downwards on the rug, and begansearching for the other things that had been in the jewel-case. Isuppose it was the carnelian ring and the gold dollar with the hole init that she missed. I opened my hand, remembering that I had had themwhen I went to hush up that noisy mocking-bird. I must have droppedthem when I jumped from the window into the cedar-tree. While I washanging over the limb, peering down to see if I could catch a glimpseof them on the ground below, the housemaid, Nora, came into the roomin answer to Miss Patricia's ring. A few minutes after, DoctorTremont followed. 

Nora and the doctor walked around and around the room, looking ateverything, as Miss Patricia had done, and hunting for the things thatwere missing, but Miss Patricia sat down in a high-backed chairagainst the wall, and cried. 

"I cannot stand it any longer, " she sobbed. Her old face wasquivering, there was a bright red spot on each cheek, and herside-curls were trembling with excitement. "I have put up with thatlittle beast until I can endure it no longer. Patience has ceased tobe a virtue. Either it must go, or I shall. Look at Dick! His heart isbeating itself almost out of his poor little body, he is sofrightened. And there's that china dragon, that has been a familyheirloom for generations, --all broken! And my precious littlekeepsakes, that I have cherished since childhood, all scattered orlost! Oh, Tom, you do not know how cruelly it hurts me!"

I felt sorry, then. I wanted to cry out, as Stuart had done when heshot his great-great-grandfather's portrait, "Oh, Aunt Patricia, I'm_so_ sorry! It was an accident. I didn't mean to do it, truly I didn'tmean to!" But she couldn't understand monkey language, and man'sspeech has been denied us, so I only hugged the limb closer andwatched in silence. 

I stayed in that tree all day. The boys came home from school, andcalled and called me, but I kept as still as a mouse. It was not untillong after dark that I crawled up the lightning-rod and slippedthrough the window into my room in the attic. Phil found me there thenext morning when he began his search again. He squeezed me until Iached, he was so glad to see me. Then he and Elsie brought me mybreakfast and sat on the floor, half crying as they watched me eat, for the order had gone forth that I must be sent away. The doctorcould forgive his boys when they did wrong, but he couldn't make anyallowance for me. 

"I think it's too bad that we have to give up the very nicest pet weever had, just because Aunt Patricia don't like him, " exclaimed Phil, mournfully. "Dago didn't do much mischief that can't be mended. Carnelian rings are as cheap as anything. Nora said so. It would beeasy enough to get her another one as good as the one Dago lost, andI'd be only too glad to give her my big silver dollar in place of thegold one. That would be better than the one she had before, for minehasn't any hole in it. Dick's tail-feathers will grow out again, andeverything could be fixed as good as new except the old blue dragon, and he was too ugly to make a fuss about, anyhow!"

"He always had good sugar-plums in him, though, " said little Elsie, who had had her full share of them, and who had so many sweet memoriesof the dragon that she looked upon it as a friend. 

"I don't care! I love Dago a thousand times more than she couldpossibly love an old piece of china or a gold dollar with a hole init. I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for Dago, and Aunt Patricia is amean old thing to make papa say that we have to give him up. I wishedI dared tell her so. I should like to stand outside her door andholler at the top of my voice:

 "Old Aunt Pat You're mean as a rat!"

"Why, Philip Tremont!" cried Elsie, in a shocked voice. "Somethingawful will happen to you if you talk that way. She isn't just youraunt, she's your great-aunt, too, in the bargain, and she's an old, old lady. "

"Well, I would!" insisted Phil. "I don't care what you say. " Just thena faint sound of music, far-away down the street, but steadily comingnearer, floated up the attic stairs. The children ran to the window tolisten, hanging recklessly out over the sill. 

"It's a grind-organ man!" cried Elsie, "and he's got a monkey. "

"I wonder how Dago would act if he were to see one of his own family, "said Phil. "Come on, let's take him down and see. "

He grabbed me up excitedly, regardless of the fact that I had notfinished my breakfast, and was still clinging to a half-eaten banana. Tucking me under his arm, he went clattering down the steep atticstairs, calling Elsie to follow. Running across the upper hall, heslid down the banister of the next flight of stairs, that being thequickest way to reach the front door and the street. Elsie was closebehind. She slid down the banister after him, her chubby legs heldstiffly out at each side, and the buttons on her jacket making a longzigzag scratch under her, as she shot down the dark, polished rail. 

A crowd of children had stopped on the curbstone in front of thehouse, shivering a little in the pale autumn sunshine, but laughingand pushing each other as they gathered closer around the man with thehand-organ. As the wheezy notes were ground out, the man unwound therope that was coiled around his wrist, and bade the monkey at theother end of it step out and dance. 

"Come on, Dago! Come shake hands with the other monkey!" the childrencried. But I shrank back as far as possible, clinging to Phil's neck. Not for a fortune would I have touched the miserable little animalcrouching on the organ. She might have been Matches's own sister, fromher resemblance to her. She belonged to the same species, I am sure, and whenever they held me near her I shrieked and scolded so fiercelythat Phil finally said that I shouldn't be teased. 

The man who held the string was a hard master. One could plainly seethat. He had a dark, cruel face, and he jerked the rope and swore ather in Italian whenever she stopped dancing, which she did every fewseconds. He had started on his rounds early, in order to attract asmany children as possible before school-time, and I doubt if the poorlittle thing had had any breakfast. She was sick besides. She woulddance a few steps and then cower down and tremble, and look at him soappealingly, that only a brute could have had the heart to strike heras he did. When he found that all his jerking was in vain, he gave herseveral hard blows with the other end of the rope. At that shestaggered up and began to dance again, but it was not long until shewas huddled down on the curbstone as before, shaking as if with achill. 

Oh, how I wished that I could be a human being for a few minutes! Abig strong man with a rope in my hands, and that fellow tied to oneend of it. Wouldn't I make him dance? Wouldn't I jerk him and scoldhim and beat him, and give him a taste of how it feels to be ahelpless animal, sick and suffering, in the power of a great uglybrute like himself?

Maybe he would not have been so rough if he had known that any onebesides the children was looking on. He did not see the gentlemanstanding at the open front door across the street, watching him with afrown on his face. He did not see him, as I did, walk back into thehall and turn the crank of an alarm-signal. But in less than twominutes, it seemed to me, that same gentleman was coming across thestreet with the policeman he had summoned. A few words passed betweenthem, and almost before the children knew what was happening, thepoliceman had the organ-grinder by the arm, and was marching him offdown the street. The gentleman who had caused the arrest followed withthe poor trembling monkey. 

"That's the president of the society for preventin' you bein' cruel toanimals, " explained one of the larger boys to the crowd of children. "You dasn't hurt a fly when he is around. Lucky for the monk that theman happened to stop in front of his house this mornin'. Come on, letssee what they do with it. "

The children trooped off after him, and Phil and Elsie watched themdown the street until they were out of sight, pushing and tripping ateach other's heels in their eagerness to follow. 

Then Phil climbed up on one of the gate-posts with me in his arms, and Elsie promptly scrambled up to the other. 

"That's what might happen to Dago any day, sister, " Phil said, in asolemn voice, as he hugged me tight. If we give him up, some oldorgan-grinder may get him, and beat him and beat him, and be cruel tohim, and I'm just not going to let anybody have him. I'll hide himsomewhere so nobody can find him. "

"Trouble is he won't stay hid, " answered Elsie, with a mournful lookin her big blue eyes. "We'll have to think of some other plan. "

It was a cold morning, but there they perched on the gate-posts, andthought and thought until the school-bell began to ring. 

CHAPTER V. 

WHAT DAGO TOLD ON FRIDAY. 

Before the bell stopped ringing, some one called Elsie to the house toget ready for kindergarten, and Phil ran down to the stable with me. He tied me to an iron ring in one of the stalls by a halter. Of courseany knot that a boy of that size could tie would not keep me aprisoner very long. By the time he was halfway to school I was freeand on my way back to the house. 

I stayed in the laundry nearly all day, for the sun went under a cloudsoon after breakfast, and a cold drizzling rain began to fall. It gaveme the rheumatism, and I was glad to curl up in a big market-basket onthe shelf behind the stove, and enjoy the heat of the roaring fire. Nora was ironing, and singing as she worked. Not since I left the warmCalifornia garden had I been as peaceful and as comfortable. The heatmade me so drowsy that not even the thump, bump of Nora's iron on theironing-board, or the sound of her shrill singing could keep me awake. I dreamed and dozed, and dozed and dreamed all day, in a blissfulstate of contentment. 

It was nearly dark when I roused up enough to stretch myself and stepout of the basket. Nora had gone up-stairs and was setting thesupper-table. I could hear the cook beating eggs in the pantry. Therewould be muffins for supper. The sound made me so hungry that Islipped into the dining-room, and hid under the sideboard until Norahad finished her work and gone back to the kitchen. The cook was stillmixing muffin batter in the pantry. I could hear her spoon clickagainst the crock as she stirred it, so that I knew she would not bein to disturb me for some time. 

I never saw a table more inviting. After I had leaped up on it, I satand looked all around a moment, trying to decide what to take first. Everything was so good. There wasn't much room to walk about, and whenI stepped over the jelly to reach the cheese, which seemed to tempt myappetite more than anything, my long tail switched the roses out ofthe bowl in the middle of the table. That confused me slightly, and intrying not to upset anything else I stepped flat into the butter, anddragged my little plaid flannel skirt through the applesauce. Why theypersist in dressing me in this ridiculous fashion is more than I canunderstand. 

You may be sure that I would have starved a week rather than haveclimbed on that table, if I had had the slightest foreboding of whatwas to follow. But how could I know that Miss Patricia was to choosethat very moment for walking into the dining-room? She had just comein from the street, for she had on her bonnet, and carried an umbrellain her hand. Phil and little Elsie followed her. 

"Oh, you little torment!" she cried, when she saw me, and, before Icould make up my mind which way to jump, she flew at me with herumbrella, trying to strike me without breaking any of the dishes. Idodged this way and that. Seeing no way of escape from the room, I ran up the curtains, over and under the chairs, around andaround, --anywhere to keep out of her way. She was after me at everystep. When I ran up to the top of the high, carved back of theold-fashioned sideboard, I found myself out of her reach for onebreathless minute. She was climbing on a chair after me, when thecook, hearing the unusual sounds, opened the pantry door and lookedin. 

[Illustration: "'OH, YOU LITTLE TORMENT!' SHE CRIED. "]

It was my only chance of escape, and, regardless of where I mightland, I leaped wildly out. I escaped Miss Patricia's umbrella, it istrue, but, just my luck, I went bump into the cook's face, and theninto the crock of muffin batter which she held in her arms. Shedropped us both with a scream which brought everybody in the househurrying to the dining-room, and I scuttled up to the highest shelf ofthe pantry, where I crouched trembling, behind some spice-boxes. I wasdripping with cold muffin batter, and more miserable and frightenedthan I had ever been before in my whole life. 

I could hear excited voices in the dining-room. When Miss Patriciafirst struck me with the umbrella, Phil had cried out: "Stop that! Youstop hitting my monkey!" Then as she chased me around the room, makingvain attempts to reach me as I scampered over chairs and up curtains, he seemed to grow wild with rage. He was fairly beside himself andbristled up like an angry little fighting-cock. "You're a mean oldthing, " he shrieked, breaking over all bounds of respect, andscreaming out his words so loud that his father, passing through thehall, heard the impudent rhyme he had made up the day before:

 "Old Aunt Pat, You're mean as a rat!"

It was just as he yelled this that the cook opened the pantry door, and I made my fatal plunge into the dark and the crock of muffinbatter. 

As I hid behind the spice-boxes I heard Doctor Tremont tell Phil, in avery stern voice, to march up-stairs, and stay there until he came forhim. It must have been nearly an hour that I hid on that shelf, waiting for a chance to make my escape. The batter began to harden andcake on me until I could not move without every hair on my bodypulling painfully. 

Things were set to rights in the dining-room after awhile and thefamily had supper. Some bread and milk were sent up to Phil. Soonafter I reached the laundry, Stuart found me there. He turned thehose on me and gave me a rough scrubbing. Then he wrapped me in apiece of a blanket and took me up-stairs to dry before the fire in hisroom. Phil had gone to bed, and was lying there sobbing, with his headunder the pillows when we came in. He wouldn't talk at first, butafter awhile he told Stuart that his father had given him a hardwhipping for speaking so disrespectfully to an old lady like MissPatricia, and that he could not go to the table again until he hadasked her pardon. That Phil vowed he would not do so long as he lived. He had made up his mind to run away in the morning. Nobody treated himright, and he didn't intend to stand it any longer. 

"But, Phil, " said Stuart, "you know yourself, that it wasn't very niceof Dago to go walking around the table through the butter andapplesauce, and all the things to eat. I don't wonder that AuntPatricia was provoked, 'specially when he has done so many otherthings to tease her. She didn't hurt him much for all her whackingaround. I saw nearly as much of the fight as you did. She didn't hithim more than one lime out of ten. I was perfectly willing that myhalf of Dago should get what it deserved. "

At that, Phil cried still harder. "Well, if you say that, " he sobbed, giving his pillow an angry thump, "then you don't love Dago as much asI do. You're against him, too. Nobody cares anything for either of us, and I'll take him and go off with him in the morning. I'm going assoon as it is light. "

But when the daylight came, Phil was not in such a hurry to go. Hestill refused to ask his Aunt Patricia's pardon, so his breakfast wassent up-stairs to him, and he ate in sulky silence. He waited until hesaw his father drive away down the street, and then he went in searchof Elsie. She is always wanting to do everything that he does, so hehad no trouble in persuading her to help him carry out his plans. 

"Put on the oldest, raggedest clothes you can find, " he said to her, "and tie an old handkerchief over your head so't you'll look asbeggary as possible. I'll tear some more holes in the old overallsthat I played in last summer, and pull part of the brim off my strawhat. We'll take the music-box out of the hall, and put it in my littlered wheelbarrow, and you and me and Dago will start off through thestreets like the grind-organ man did yesterday, I planned it all lastnight while everybody in the house was sound asleep. We'll sing whenthe music-box plays songs, and you and Dago can dance when it playswaltzes. I'll give you part of the money that we get to buy you theprettiest doll in town. I'll take the rest and go off to the placethat I'm thinking about. "

He wouldn't tell her where the place was, although she begged him withtears in her eyes. "Some place where they're not cruel to little boysand monkeys, " was all he would tell her. "Where they don't ever whipthem, and where they don't mind 'em getting into mischief once inawhile. "

An hour later everything was ready for the start. Except for thedaintily embroidered ruffles of her white linen underskirt, that wouldshow below her old gingham dress, little Elsie might have been takenfor the sorriest beggar in town. The dress was faded and outgrown. Thelittle shawl she had pinned over her shoulders had one corner burnedout of it, and the edges of the hole were scorched and jagged. Afaded silk muffler that she had used in her doll-cradle was drawntightly over her tousled curls, and tied under her chin. 

Phil's outfit might have come from the ragbag, too, it was so tatteredand patched. But he had forgotten to take off his silver cuff-buttons, and the shoes he wore looked sadly out of place below the grimy jeansoveralls. He was obliged to wear a pair of bright tan-coloured shoes, so new that they squeaked. They were the only ones he had, for his oldones had been thrown away the day before. At first he was tempted togo barefoot, but the November wind was chilly, although the sun shone, and he dared not risk it. 

It was ten o'clock by the court-house dial, and the bell was on thelast stroke, when little Elsie held open the alley-gate and Philtrundled the red wheelbarrow through. I was perched on the music-box. Rather an uncertain seat, I found it, as it slid back and forth atevery step. I had to hold on so tight that my arms were sore for twodays afterward. 

"Which way shall we go?" asked little Elsie, as she fastened the gatebehind us. Phil looked up and down the alley in an uncertain way, andthen said, "When the princes in the fairy tales start out into thewide world to make their fortunes, they blow a leather up into the airand follow that. "

"Here's one, " cried Elsie, running forward to pick up a bit of fluffywhite down that had blown over from a pigeon-house on the roof of aneighbouring stable. "I'll blow, and you say the charm. " She puckeredup her rosy little mouth and gave a quick puff. 

 "Feather, feather, when we blow, Point the way that we should go, "

sang Phil. "West!" he exclaimed, as it sailed lazily across the alleyand over a high board fence. "That means that we are to go down towardthe cotton-mills. I don't know much about that part of town. Mostlypoor people live there, who look as if they hadn't much money to giveaway. But we'll try it, anyhow. "

Picking up the barrow-handles, he trundled down the alley toward PineStreet, with little Elsie holding fast to the tail of his tatteredjacket. We were off at last, to seek our fortunes in the wide, wideworld, and our hearts were light as we followed the feather. 

CHAPTER VI. 

WHAT DAGO SAID TO THE MIRROR-MONKEY ON SATURDAY. 

Such a day as that was! We enjoyed it at first, for the sun shone anda crowd of dancing children followed us everywhere we went. We were ina strange part of town, so no one recognised us, but more than onewoman looked sharply at little Elsie's embroidered ruffles, peepingout below the old gingham dress, and at Phil's squeaky new shoes. 

"Have you run away, honey, or did your mammy dress you up that way andsend you out to beg?" asked a pleasant-voiced woman, with a baby inher arms, as she leaned over a gate to drop a penny in Elsie's cup. Elsie gave a startled glance at Phil, not knowing what to say, andPhil, turning very red, moved away without answering. 

The music-box was an old-fashioned affair that wound up noisily witha big key. It played several jerky little waltzes and four plaintiveold songs: "Ben Bolt, " "The Last Rose of Summer, " "Then You'llRemember Me, " and "Home, Sweet Home. " The children had sung them sooften that they knew all the words, and their voices rang out lustilyat first; but, about the twentieth time the same old round of tunesbegan, little Elsie drew a deep, tired breath. 

[Illustration]

"Oh, Phil, " she said, "I _can't_ sing those songs all over again. I'msick of them. " She sat down on the curbstone, refusing to join in themelody, clasping her hands around her knees, and rocking back andforth as the shrill voice of the music-box piped on alone. 

"I just _hate_ 'Sweet Alice Ben Bolt, '" she complained. "Isn't it mosttime to go home?" It was noon now. At the sound of the factorywhistles all our followers had deserted us, and gone home to dinner. Phil sat down on the curbstone beside Elsie, and emptying the penniesout of the little cup she had been carrying, gravely counted them. "There's only eleven, " he announced. "Of course we can't go home yet. "

The music-box droned out the last notes of "You'll Remember Me, " gavea click, paused an instant as if to take breath, and then startedmournfully on its last number, "Be it ever so humble, there's no placelike home. " At the first sound of the familiar notes, Elsie laid herhead down on her knees and began to weep dismally. "I wish I was backin my home, sweet home, " she cried. "I'm _so_ tired and cold andhungry. I'm nearly starved. Oh, brother, I wisht I hadn't runned away!I don't _like_ to be a beggar, " she wailed. 

Phil began patting her on the back. "Don't cry, sister, " he begged. "We'll go back to that bake-shop we passed a little while ago, and getsomething to eat. Don't you remember how good it smelled? Come on!You'll feel better when you've had a lunch. I'll spend every pennywe've got, if you'll only stop crying. We can make some more thisafternoon. "

Elsie wiped her eyes on her shawl, let him help her to her feet, andobediently trotted after him as we went down the narrow back street, through which we had passed a few moments before. It was not far tothe bakery. The opening of the door made a bell ring somewhere in therear of the shop, and a fat, motherly old German woman came waddlingto the front. Phil bought a bag of buns and another of little cakes, and was turning to go out again when Elsie climbed up on a chair nearthe stove, refusing to move. A cold wind had begun to blow outdoors, and her hands and wrists showed red below her short sleeves. 

"I'm tired, " she said, with an appealing glance of her big blue eyesat the old woman. "Mayn't we stay here and rest while we eat thecakes?"

"Ach, yes, mein liebchen!" cried the motherly old soul, takingElsie's cold little hands in hers. "Come back mit me, where is oneleedle chair like yourself. "

She led the way into a tiny sitting-room at the rear of the shop, where a canary in a cage and geraniums blooming in the window made itseem like summer. Hot, spicy smells of good things baking, floated infrom ovens somewhere out of sight. 

As Elsie sank down into the little chair, with a deep sigh, Philtrundled the wheelbarrow into the room, and for the first time the oldwoman caught sight of me and the music-box. You should have heard herexclamations and questions. She laughed at Phil's answers until herfat sides shook. Little by little she found out the whole truth aboutour running away, and seemed to think it very amusing. After we hadrested awhile, Phil offered to give her a private performance. As hestarted to wind the music-box, she opened a door into a stairway andcalled, "Oh, Meena! Make haste, once already, and bring der baby!"

In answer to her call, a young woman came hurrying down the steps, carrying a big fat baby, who stared at us solemnly with its roundblue eyes, and stuck its thumb in its mouth. But as the music started, and I began my dancing, he kicked and crowed with delight. The more hegurgled and cooed and waved his little fat hands, the broader thesmiles spread on the women's faces. I mention this because the more henoticed us, the more his grandmother's heart seemed to warm toward us. When the music stopped, she went out of the room and brought us each aglass of milk and a little mince pie, hot from the oven. 

After we had eaten, Elsie got down on the rug and played with thebaby, although Phil kept insisting that it was time to go. One thingafter another delayed us until it was nearly the middle of theafternoon before we started out again on the streets. The old womanpinned Elsie's shawl around her more comfortably, kissed her on eachcheek, and told Phil to hurry home with her, that it was getting toocold to be wandering around, standing on street corners. 

She watched us out of sight. As soon as we had turned a corner, Phillooked ruefully into Elsie's empty cup. "If I had known she was goingto give us the milk and pie, I wouldn't have bought the buns, " hesaid. "We haven't made much headway, and it gets dark so soon, thesedays. I'm afraid the feather fooled us about the way to go. "

We wandered on and on all the rest of that long afternoon, sometimesplaying before every door, and sometimes walking blocks beforestopping for a performance. Phil's new shoes tired his feet until hecould scarcely drag them, and little Elsie's lips were blue with cold. At last when the music-box struck up "Home, Sweet Home" for whatseemed the ten hundreth time, her voice quavered through the firstline and stopped short with a sob. 

"Oh, Phil, I'm getting tireder and tireder! Can't you make that boxskip that song?" she begged. "If I hear it another time I just can'tstand it! I'll _have_ to turn around and go back home. "

Phil glanced anxiously at the clouded sky. The sun was so low it washidden by the tall buildings, and the darkness was coming on rapidly. 

"Well, come along!" he said, impatiently. "I s'pose I'll have to takeyou home, cry-baby, but I'm not going in myself. We haven't anymoney at all, hardly; not enough to take me even a tweety, weenty partof the way to that place I'm going to, let alone enough to buy youthat doll. But that's the way with girls. They always spoileverything. "

[Illustration: "ALL WENT WELL UNTIL WE REACHED AN ALLEY CROSSING. "]

Little Elsie rubbed her sleeve across her eyes and swallowed hard. "Iwouldn't ask to go back, brother, really and truly I wouldn't, but I'mso cold and mizzible I feel most like I'm going to be sick. "

Phil looked at her little bare red hands and tear-stained face, andsaid, gruffly, "Well, then, get on the wheelbarrow. You can sit on themusic-box and hold Dago in your lap, and I'll wheel you a piece untilyou get rested. "

Elsie very willingly climbed up and took me in her lap. It was hardwork for Phil. He grew red in the face, and his arms ached, but hekept bravely on, although he was out of breath from the hard pushing. All went well until we reached an alley crossing. Phil, whoseattention was all on the wheel of his barrow, which he was trying tosteer safely between the cobblestones, did not see a long string ofgeese waddling down the alley on their way home from the commons, where they had been feeding all day. They came silently along in anawkward, wavering line, as quietly as a procession of web-footedghosts, until they were almost upon us. Then the leader shot out hiswings with a hoarse cry, every goose in the procession followed hisexample, and with a rush they flapped past us, half running, halfflying. It was done with such startling suddenness that it caused ageneral upsetting of our party. Phil veered to one side, and over wewent in a heap, music-box, Elsie, barrow, and all, with myself on top. There was a frightened scream from Elsie, followed by a steadydownpour of tears as Phil picked her up. She had struck her foreheadon a cobblestone, and a big blue bump was rapidly swelling above oneeye. Her nose was bleeding a little, too. Phil was so occupied intrying to comfort her, and in wiping away the blood, that it wasseveral minutes before he thought of the music-box. When he picked itup he found it was so badly broken that it would no longer play. 

"Oh, what will papa say!" cried Elsie. The little fellow made noanswer, but could scarcely keep from crying himself, as he lifted iton the barrow, to start back home. 

"When will we be there, brother?" asked Elsie, when they had trudgedalong for some time. She was holding on to the tail of his jacket, sniffling dismally. Phil stopped, for they had reached a streetcorner, and looked around. It was growing dusk. Then he turned to herwith a dazed, scared fate. 

"Oh, Sis, " he cried, "I don't know what to do. This isn't the streetthat I thought it was. I'm afraid we're lost!"

They had reached the edge of the town by this time. Only one moreblock of pretty suburban homes stood between them and the outskirtingfields. 

"I'll tell you what we'll do, " said Phil, after a moment's pause, bravely choking back his own fears at sight of his little sister'sfrightened face. "See that house over there with the firelight shiningthrough the windows, so bright and warm? It looks as if kind peoplelived there. We'll go and ask them to show us the way home. "

"I wish I was home now, " mourned Elsie. "I wish I was all clean andwarm, sitting at the supper-table with my good clothes on, beside mypapa. Maybe we'll never find our way back, any more! Maybe he'llnever kiss me and say, 'Papa's dear little daughter, ' again! He'llthink I'm dead. Maybe we'll have to go and live with beggars, and besomebody's poor children all our life to punish us for running away;and, oh, maybe we'll never have any 'home, sweet home' any more!"

At the picture she made for herself, of the cheerful room with thedear home faces gathered around the table, which she might never seeagain, she began to sob wildly. The tears were falling so fast nowthat she could hardly see, but stumbled blindly along, stumping hertired toes at every step, and clinging fast to Phil's old jacket. 

They had almost reached the house with the friendly windows, when agreat iron gate just ahead of them swung open, and an elegantlydressed old lady walked out to step into a carriage, drawn up at thecurbstone. Behind her came another old lady, tall and stately, andwith something so familiar in appearance that both the children stoodstill in astonishment. She was looking about her with sharp, eagle-like eyes. Her skirts swished softly as she walked, and thelittle bunches of gray curls on each side of her face bobbed gentlyunder her imposing black bonnet. 

"Aunt Patricia!" screamed little Elsie, darting forward and claspingher arms around the astonished old lady's knees. "Oh, Aunt Patricia!We're lost! _Please_ take us home!"

If a dirty little grizzly bear had suddenly sprung up in the path andbegun hugging her, Miss Patricia could not have been more amazed thanshe was at the sight of the ragged child who clung to her. She pushedback the old silk muffler from the tousled curls, and lookedwonderingly on the child's blood-stained face with the blue bump stillswelling on the forehead. 

"Caroline Driggs, " she called to the lady who stood waiting for her atthe carriage door, "am I dreaming? I never saw my nephew's children insuch a plight before. I can scarcely believe they are his. "

"Oh, we are! We are!" screamed little Elsie. "I'll just _die_ if yousay we are not!"

Phil stood by, too shamefaced to plead for himself, yet fearful thatshe might take Elsie and leave him to his fate, because he had refusedto apologise for his rude speech. 

Miss Patricia had been spending the day with Mrs. Driggs, who was anold friend of hers, and who was now about to take her home in hercarriage. Mrs. Driggs seemed to understand the situation at a glance. "Come on, " she said. "We'll put the children in here with us; themonkey and the rest of the gypsy outfit can go up with the coachman. Here, Sam, take this little beast on the seat with you, and lift upthe barrow, too. "

If those children were half as glad to sink down on the comfortablecushions as I was to snuggle under the coachman's warm lap-robe, thenI am sure that Mrs. Driggs's elegant carriage never held three moregrateful hearts. As we climbed to our places I heard Mrs. Driggs say, kindly: "So the little ones were masquerading, were they? It is a coldday for such sport. "

Miss Patricia answered, in a voice that trembled with displeasure:"Really, Caroline, I am more deeply mortified than I can say, to thinkthat any one bearing my name--the proud, unsullied name ofTremont--could go parading the streets, in the garb of a beggar, asking for alms. I cannot trust myself to speak of it calmly. "

All the way home I felt sorry for Phil. I didn't envy him having tosit there, facing Miss Patricia, with his conscience hurting him as itmust have done. That is the advantage of being a monkey. We have noconsciences to trouble us. I didn't envy his home-coming, either, although I knew he would be glad enough to creep into his warm, softbed. His feet were badly blistered from his long tramp in his newshoes. 

Stuart looked after my comfort, and I was soon curled up snugly on acushion before the fire. Phil and Elsie had a hot bath, and hot breadand milk, and were put to bed at once. Elsie was coughing at nearlyevery breath, and the doctor seemed troubled when he came up to rubsome soothing lotion on the poor little swelled forehead. He broughtsomething for Phil's blistered feet, too, but he never spoke a wordall the time he was putting it on. 

After it was done he stood looking at him very gravely. Then he said:"Your little sister tells me that you took her out to dance and singin the streets to-day to earn money, in order that you may run awayfrom home. Is that so?"

"Yes, sir, " answered Phil, in a very faint voice. 

"So you are tired of your home, " continued the doctor, "and think youcould find kinder treatment among strangers who care nothing for you. I am sorry that my little son has come to such a conclusion. But ifyou are determined to leave us, there is no necessity for you to slipoff like a thief in the night. Winter is coming on, and you will needall your warm clothes. Better take time to pack them properly, andcollect whatever of your belongings you want to keep. I am very muchafraid that this day's work is going to make your little sister ill. No doubt you will feel worse for it yourself, and will need a goodrest before starting out. Maybe you'd better wait until Monday, beforeyou turn your back for ever on your home and family. "

The doctor waited a moment, but Phil made no answer. After waitinganother moment, still without a word from Phil, the doctor said, "Goodnight, my son, " and walked down-stairs into the library. 

Now, I know well enough that, when we started out in the morning, Philwas fully determined to run away from home, as soon as he could earnenough money to take him. I couldn't understand what had changed hismind so completely. You can imagine my surprise when he began to sob, "Oh, papa! papa! You didn't kiss me good night and you don't care abit if I run away! Oh, I don't want to go now! I don't _want_ to!"

It sounded so pitiful that I got up off my cushion and walked over tothe bed. All that I could do was to take his head in my arms and rubit and pat it and rub it again. I think it comforted him a little, although he sobbed out at first: "Oh, Dago, you're the only friendI've got! It's awful when a little boy's mother is dead, and thereisn't anybody in the whole world to love him but a monkey!"

The door was open into Elsie's room. She heard what he said, and in aminute, she came pattering across the carpet in her little bare feetand climbed up on the bed beside me. 

"Don't say that, brother, " she begged, leaning over and kissing him. "Dago isn't the only one that loves you, 'cause there's me. Don'tcry. "

"But, oh, " wailed Phil, "papa didn't say one word about my staying! Hedoesn't care if I run away. He never once asked me not to, and Ibelieve he'll be glad when I'm gone, 'cause he can't bear to see AuntPatricia worried, and everything I do seems to worry her. She says shedoesn't understand boys, and I s'pose it's best for me to go. But Idon't want to. _Aow, I don't want to!_"

By this time he had worked himself up into such a spasm of crying thathe could not stop, for all little Elsie's begging. She wiped his eyeson the sheet with her little dimpled hands, and kissed him a dozentimes. Then I think she must have grown frightened at his sobs, forshe slipped off the bed to the floor, "I'll tell papa that you don'twant to go, " she said, trailing out of the room in her long whitenightgown. She had to hold it up in front to keep from tripping, andher little bare feet went patter, patter, down the long stairs to thelibrary. Wondering what would happen next, I followed her into thehall, and swung by my tail over the banister. 

Doctor Tremont was sitting in a big armchair before the fire, with hishead in his hands. He looked very much troubled over something. Sheopened the door, and ran up to him. 

"Why, Elsie, child, what is the matter?" he cried, catching her in hisarms. "What do you mean by running around the house in your nightgown?Doesn't my little daughter know that it will make her cough worse, andmaybe make her very, very ill?"

He started quickly up the stairs with her, to carry her back to bed. She clasped her arms around his neck, and laid her soft pink cheekagainst his. "Oh, daddy dear, " I heard her say, "Phil is crying andcrying up there in the dark, and the monkey's patting his head, tryingto make him stop. He's crying because you don't love him any more. Hesaid you didn't kiss him good night, and you don't care if he runsaway, and he hasn't a friend in the world but me and the monkey. Hefeels awful bad about having to leave home. Oh, daddy dear, _please_tell him he can stay!"

CHAPTER VII. 

WHAT DAGO TOLD THE MIRROR-MONKEY ON SUNDAY. 

As soon as Elsie was put back to bed, Doctor Tremont came into theroom where I was still trying to comfort Phil, for I had skipped backto him when they started up the stairs. Stirring the fire in the grateuntil it blazed brightly, he turned to look at Phil. There was a longsilence; then he said, "Phil, come here, my boy. Come and sit on myknee by the fire. I want to talk to you awhile. "

His voice was so kind and gentle that it seemed to me nobody couldhave been afraid of him then, but Phil climbed out of bed very slowly, as if he did not want to obey. Wrapping him in a warm, fleecy blanket, the doctor drew him over to a big rocking-chair in front of the fire, and sat down with him on his knee. I crawled back to my cushion on thehearth. 

For a little while there was nothing said. The old chair crooned acomforting lullaby of _creakity-creak_, _creakity-creak_, as thedoctor rocked back and forth, with the boy's curly head on hisshoulder. At last he said: "You think that I am unkind, Phil, becauseI want to send your pet away, and cruel because I punished you forspeaking rudely to your Aunt Patricia. Now, I am going to tell you herstory, and maybe you will understand her better. The truth is, you donot understand your Aunt Patricia, or why many of the little thingsyou do should annoy her. I want you to put yourself in her place asnear as you can, and see how differently you will look at things fromher standpoint. 

"She was the only child in a houseful of grown people, and growing upamong prim elderly persons made her orderly and exact in everythingshe did. When she was a very little girl she was sent to a strict, old-fashioned school every morning, where she learned to work samplersas well as to read and spell. They used to tell that, at the age ofseven, she came home one day with two prizes which she had taken. Onewas for scholarship, and one was for neatness in her needlework. When she brought them home, her grandmother (that is yourgreat-great-grandmother, you know) praised her for the first; but hergrandfather (the one whose portrait Stuart shot) said: 'Nay, it is forthe neatness that the little lass should be most commended, for it isever a pleasing virtue in a woman. ' Then he gave her a gold dollar, toencourage her in always being neat and exact. She was so proud of itthat nothing could have persuaded her to spend it. She had a holebored in it so that she could hang it on a ribbon around her neck. Fora long, long time she wore it that way. She has often said to me thatthe sight of it was a daily reminder of what her grandfather wantedher to be, and that it helped her to form those habits of orderlinessand neatness in which her family took such pride. Long after shestopped wearing the little coin, the sight of it used to recall theold proverbs that she heard so often, such as '"A stitch in time savesnine, " Patricia, ' or, 'Remember, my dear, "have a place foreverything, and everything in its place. "' It used to remind her ofthe praise they gave her, too. Her grandfather's 'Well done, my goodlittle lass, ' was a reward that made her happy for hours. 

"Her room was always in perfect order. Even her toys were never leftscattered about the house. She has her old doll packed away now, inlavender, in nearly as good condition as when it was given to her, sixty years ago. You can see how anything would annoy her that wouldbreak in on these lifelong habits of hers. She was a child that tookgreat pleasure in her little keepsakes, and the longer she owned themthe dearer they became. She kept that little gold coin, that hergrandfather gave her, for over half a century; and that is the dollarthat Dago lost. Do you wonder that she grieved over the loss of it?

"The old blue china dragon is one of her earliest recollections. Itused to sit on a cabinet in her grandmother's room, and there werealways sugar-plums in it, as there have been ever since it was givento her. I can remember it myself when I was a boy. One of thepleasures of my visit to the old house was listening in the firelightto grandfather's 'dragon tales, ' as we called them. They were aboutall sorts of wonderful things, and we called them that because, whilehe told them, the old dragon was always passed around and we sat andmunched sugar-plums. That jar has been in the family so long that yourgreat-great-grandfather remembered it when he was a boy, --and that isthe jar that Dago broke. 

"There were very few children in the neighbourhood where your AuntPatricia lived. For a long time she had no playmates except the littleboy who lived on the adjoining place, Donald McClain. But he came overnearly every day for four years, and they grew to love each other likebrother and sister. It was a lonesome time for the little Patriciawhen the McClains moved away. Donald brought her a tiny carnelian ringthe day he came over for the last time. 'To remember me by, ' he said, and she put it on her finger and remembered him always, as thekindest, manliest little playmate any child ever had. 

"She grew up after awhile to be a beautiful young girl. I will showyou her miniature sometime, with the pearls around it. The littlecarnelian ring was too small then, and she had to lay it away; but shenever forgot her old playmate. When she was nineteen her mother died, and, soon after, her father lost his eyesight, and she gave up all hertime to caring for him. She sang to him, read to him, led him aroundthe garden, and amused him constantly. She never went anywhere withouthim, never thought of her own pleasure, but stayed alone with him inthe quiet old house, year after year, until he died. 

"Donald came back once after he was a man, and had been throughcollege, and stayed all summer in his old home. He was going toScotland in the fall. Before he left, he asked Aunt Patricia to be hiswife and go with him. She said, 'I would, Donald, if I were not neededso much here at home; but how could I go away and leave my poor oldblind father?'

"He would not take no for an answer, but went away, saying that hewould be back again in a year, and then they would take care of thedear old father together. But when the year was over, the ship thatwas bringing him home went down at sea in a storm, and all that AuntPatricia had left of his was his letters, and the little carnelianring he had given her, when they were children, to 'remember him by. 'And that is the ring that Dago lost. "

Phil raised his head quickly from his father's shoulder. "Oh, papa!"he cried. "I'm so sorry! I never could have said anything mean to herif I had known all that. "

His father went on. "That is why I am telling you this now, my son. Maybe children could understand old people better, if they knew howmuch they had suffered in their long lives, how much they had lost, and how much they had given up for other people's sakes. Aunt Patriciahas been like a mother to me ever since I was left without any, when Iwas Stuart's age. She sent me to college, she gave me a home with heruntil I was successfully started in my profession, and has shown me athousand other kindnesses that I have not been able to repay. I havebeen able to make up to her what she has spent in money, but alifetime would not be long enough to cancel my debt to her for all theloving care she has given me. But even if she hadn't been so kind;even if she were crabbed and cross and unreasonable, I couldn't let ason of mine be rude to an old lady under my roof. One never knows whattroubles have whitened the hair and made the wrinkles come in thetemper as well as the face. Old age must be respected, no matter howunlovely. 

"As for Aunt Patricia, --if you would only remember how good she was toyou after your accident, how she nursed you, and waited on you, andread to you hour after hour, --she has been tender and loving to all ofyou, especially little Elsie, and is trying to help me bring up mychildren as best we can, alone. And, Phil, my boy, sometimes it is ashard for us as it is for you, to always know what is best to dowithout the little mother's help. "

Phil's arm stole around his father's neck. "I'll ask Aunt Patricia'spardon in the morning, the very first thing, " he said, in a low voice. "I'll tell her that I didn't understand her, just like she didn'tunderstand me, and after this I'll be like the three wise monkeys ofJapan. "

"How is that?" asked his father, smiling. 

"Why, never say or hear or see more than I ought to. Keep my handsover my eyes or ears or mouth, whenever I'm tempted to be rude. Instead of thinking that she's fussy and particular, I'll only see thewrinkles in her face that the trouble made, and I'll remember how goodshe's been to you and all of us. "

His father hugged him closer. "If you can always remember to do that, "he said, "your part of the world will certainly be a happy place tolive in. If you can be blind and deaf to other people's faults andspeak only pleasant things. "

"Papa, " said Phil, in the pause that followed, hiding his face on hisfather's shoulder and speaking with a tremble in his voice, "I'mmighty sorry I did so many bad things to-day: broke the music-box, andran away with Elsie, and mortified the family name, begging on thestreets. That's what Aunt Patricia told Mrs. Driggs. I never want torun away again as long as I live. Oh, if you'll only forgive me andlet me stay, I'd rather be your little boy than anybody else's in thewhole world!"

The doctor gathered him closer in his arms and kissed him. "Do youthink that anything in the whole world could make me give you up, mylittle Philip?" he said. "You have been a great worry to me sometimes, but you are one of my very greatest blessings, and I love you--oh, mychild, you will never know how much!"

A great, happy "bear-hug" almost choked him, as Phil's arms wereclasped about his neck. Then he said, "I think we understand eachother all the way around, now. Shut your eyes, little man, and I'llrock you to sleep. "

Phil snuggled down against him like a little bird in a warm nest, andthere they sat in the firelight together. The old rocking-chair threwa giant shadow on the wall as it swung slowly back and forth, back andforth. "_Creakity-creak_, " droned the rockers. "_Creakity-creak_, _squeakity-squeak_, " and to the music of their drowsy song Phil fellfast asleep in his father's arms. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

DAGO BIDS FAREWELL TO THE MIRROR-MONKEY. 

Hey there, Ring-tail, I've just slipped in a moment to say good-bye. I'm off for California in the morning. It seems that I'm at the bottomof all the trouble in this family, so I'm to be shipped by the fastexpress. But you needed waste any sympathy on _me_. I am going back tothe old California garden among the vines and the pepper-trees, whereI shall miss all the winter's snow and ice that I have been dreading. 

The boys do not feel that they are giving me up entirely, for theywill see me once a year when they visit their grandfather. I am sorryto leave them, but the kindest master in the world couldn't make me ashappy as the freedom of the warm, wide outdoors. Next time you hear ofme I shall be back in that land of summer, watching the water splashover the marble mermaid in the fountain, and the goldfish swim by inthe sun. 

Think of me, sometimes, Ring-tail; not as you have known me here, caged in a man-made house, and creeping about in everybody's way, butthink of me as the happiest, freest creature that ever swung from abough. Free as the birds and the bees in the old high-walled garden, and as happy, too, as they, when the sunshine turns to other sunshineall the Gold of Ophir roses. Good-bye! old fellow!

[Illustration]

THE END. 

 Works of Annie Fellows Johnston

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