22 



FOUR-HANDED FOLK. 



my head so as completely to embrace it, and 

 buried his teeth in my hair. 



Trying to retain him on my lap by keeping 

 the room still and never relaxing vigilance for a 

 moment, if any sudden noise, a laugh, a door 

 opened, or anything startled him, he would slip 

 through my hands in spite of my efforts to hold 

 him, scramble to my shoulder, throw his tail and 

 perhaps an arm around my neck, and hold 

 closely enough nearly to choke me. 



This soon became intolerable. I could neither 

 read nor do anything, except devote myself 

 entirely to the kinkajou. I went away from home 

 for a month — this was June — and during that 

 time he never cared to come out of the cage. 

 When the door was opened for evening, he 

 would glance gravely out, sniff loudly, and look 

 slowly around the room, then, in a few moments, 

 curl down again to sleep. I hoped he was cured 

 of his troublesome fondness, but on my return 

 he came out at once, and proceeded to amuse 

 himself and torment me in the same old way. 



The weather was now very warm, and I could 

 not endure his embarrassing attentions. I would 

 not keep him confined to his cage, so I presented 

 him to the National Museum at Washington, 

 where he was not so gentle and amiable as he 

 had been with us, but bit and scratched, and, in 

 fact, went quite back to savagery. 



