iS8 THE MONKEYFOLK OF SOUTH AFRICA 



at me. I hate to be stared at, so I hatched out a plan of 

 escape. I lay coiled up and shammed death. The man 

 who feeds me came along, opened the door and prodded 

 me. I gave no sign of life. He thrust his finger into my 

 ribs, and with a sudden grab I bit him. He gave a yell, 

 and before he could recover from his surprise, I just hopped 

 on to his shoulder and away. They tried to follow me, 

 but they might as well have tried to catch a streak of 

 lightning. 



PLOTS AND COUNTER PLOT 



I found a secure hiding-place and chuckled, while I 

 watched those clumsy fellows searching all over the museum. 

 They spent hours looking for me. One of them waited 

 late, thinking I would come out. No fear, for I spotted 

 him, and lay low. I had a high old time for two or three 

 nights. I ate up the food they left for me, and squeezed 

 into the doves' cage. I pounced upon a lovely white dove, 

 killed and ate the tenderest parts of it. Next morning 

 I watched from my spy-hole. When the museum-man 

 discovered the murder, he was angry, and I knew by the 

 glint in his eyes he was hatching out a plot. When it grew 

 dark I ventured out, determined not to be caught napping. 

 I felt hungry and thirsty, and seeing some nice tempting 

 food and drink laid out, I supposed for me, I hopped up to 

 it. My foot touched something which stuck. I tried to 

 leap away, but some horrible beastly stuff you fellows call 

 bird lime, spread on a piece of string, stuck to my nice soft 

 fur, which I am so proud of. I tumbled and rolled and 

 struggled, and at last I managed to get free. I sprang up 

 on to the skull of the Sperm whale, and, sitting on a tusk, 

 I pondered. It was clear I couldn't again attempt to go 

 near that food. Yes, I have it. I will dine off another dove. 

 It struggled so desperately I had to let it go. I managed 



