THE MARMOSET. 



69 



gracefully lifted the shawl and stepped out in 

 full sight. The rather long fur of the arms and 

 under parts gave him the appearance of wear- 

 ing a white, long-sleeved apron over his reddish- 

 brown dress. 



The home, the eating and sleeping place of 

 the little beast, whose name was Midas Pinche, 

 was on the mantel, but he had by way of change, 

 and to afford a chance for outings, a highway to 

 the floor in the shape of an old-fashioned easy 

 chair. The piece of carving at the top was his 

 favorite seat, from which he looked upon the 

 strange human world he found about him. 

 Descending to the arms, he had on the left a 

 cushioned seat before the bright grate fire, and 

 on the right a somewhat distant outlook into the 

 sunshine through the windows. On rare occa- 

 sions he went to the floor, and made efforts to 

 climb the slender leg of an upright piano, across 

 the fireplace from his chair. A laughable figure 

 he was too, his white arms clasping the leg, and 

 his queer face turned toward me to see if I in- 

 tended to allow it. So far and no farther, was 

 his range, defined for him by the length of a 

 cord attached to a belt around the body, and 

 very seldom, indeed, did he attempt to take a 

 step beyond his limits. 



On one occasion, there being no fire, a centre- 

 table was moved nearer than usual to the mantel, 



