THE SPIDER MONKEY. 



137 



me when I opened my door I hope never to see 

 again. 



There was not a box or a bag, that he could 

 open, but he had opened and thrown to the floor, 

 and scattered everything. There was not a cur- 

 tain in the room that he had not torn to shreds ; 

 not a picture that, in his search for spiders, he 

 had not pulled down. The canopy over the bed 

 he had destroyed ; a glass of orangeade he had 

 poured into the soap-dish ; an inkstand he had 

 upset, and made prints of an inky little paw all 

 over my glass, where he had evidently been try- 

 ing to get at the monkey he saw there. Lastly, 

 when there was positively not another thing he 

 could do, he had gone to sleep among the pil- 

 lows, inky fingers and all. When I opened the 

 door he sprang up in a panic, and was outside 

 before I could catch him. He probably knew 

 he should be whipped, for he ran to the roof and 

 got away, and I never saw him again. 



By this time I had become very fond of Gila, 

 and she returned the affection, her greatest grief 

 being that I would not let her sleep in my room, 

 and be near me always, for she was a terrible 

 coward and hated to be alone. When I opened 

 the door in the morning, she stood up and 

 greeted me with her most earnest " O-o-o-o." 

 And when I bade her good-night, she screamed 

 and chattered and begged so hard, that I could 



