JACK AND JILL 
19 
the one I like the most, was to fly to 
meet me on my way home from my 
office. I live at the edge of the town, 
about ten minutes’ ride from my office. 
The factory whistle blows at noon. Jill 
learned to know that this whistle was 
the signal for my appearance. Riding 
home on my bicycle I would be met by 
this most intelligent bird. As I was 
nearly halfway home she would come 
flying down the street and settle on my 
shoulder, cawing gently to me as we 
rode along together. This delightful 
experience was very gratifying to me. 
Jill was very fond of having her head 
scratched, sitting on my knee a long 
time and going to sleep during the 
process. 
Jack and Jill had many games to- 
gether, Jill riding around on Jack’s 
back. If a stray dog came around. 
Jack ran after him barking, with Jill 
flying over his back and cawing loudly, 
scaring the intruder so badly that he 
would run for his life. 
Jack acquired a very bad habit try- 
ing to chew up stones, pieces of coal, 
etc. In this manner he was rapidly 
wearing down his teeth. To show the 
power of his jaws, one day he took a 
tin funnel and mashed it flat, then made 
a tooth mark through both sides of it 
at once. 
An Orang-utan’s Sense of Humor. 
At the Bronx Zoo in New York City 
is an orang-utan that is a clown among 
monkeys. It is about the height of an 
eight-year-old child, and short-necked 
and stubby-legged like a dwarf. I was 
standing before its cage, a Companion 
contributor writes, when the keeper 
brought it a pan of milk. The orang-u- 
tan sat on the floor, grasped the pan 
and drank from it as a child would 
from a bowl. In its eagerness to drain 
the last drop it tumbled over backward, 
which amused the people watching it. 
The orang-utan sat up and looked at 
them when they laughed and seemed to 
ponder a moment ; then it grasped its 
pan and repeated the tumble. After 
amusing the spectators a while that 
way. it happened on a funnier variation 
by rising up from its fall with the pan 
on its head. 
When the spectators had grown tired 
of this, the orang-utan disgustedly 
rolled the pan away and looked about 
for something else to amuse the crowd. 
From under a pile of straw it produced 
about six feet of rope. Throwing an 
end of this over its trapeze so that it 
dangled high in the air, it jumped for 
it, missed it, and rolled over backward 
in the straw. This may have been an 
accident the first time, but, encouraged 
by the amusement of the growing 
crowd, it did it over and over with gro- 
tesque exaggerated clumsiness. 
When this, too, had become stale, the 
orang-utan climbed to a platform, 
passed one end of the rope over a pipe 
that ran above its head, and grasped 
both ends. Then it walked backward 
with them as far as it could and swung 
forward. The rope was too long and 
the performer got quite a bump ; but 
the children roared with delight, and 
so at the expense of its anatomy the 
monkey repeated the accident time 
after time. 
The last laugh of the afternoon was 
on the crowd. The orang-utan made nu- 
merous unsuccessful attempts to tie 
one end of the rope to the pipe and to 
climb into its trapeze while holding the 
other end, but each time, of course, the 
fumbled imitation of a knot came un- 
done. This seemed to be a real joke 
on the monkey, and the crowd was 
more amused than ever at its seeming 
distress. At last the comedian, evi- 
dently tired of entertaining the public, 
calmly tied the rope to the pipe, climbed 
into the trapeze with the other end in 
its hand and, ignoring the spectators, 
gave itself a good swing. — The Youth’s 
Companion. 
Fuchsias. 
The fuchsias are languorous beauties, 
Exotic in tint and mien; 
Their ruby and violet pendants, 
Like jewels amid the green. 
— Emma Peirce. 
For my own reading, I have been 
deeply interested in Morse’s “Life of 
Holmes.’’ Toward the end of his days 
one sees that he, too, came face to face 
with the great mystery. Dying do we 
leave this life a “futile failure” and re- 
turn to unconsciousness, or do we 
meet another life full of infinite possi- 
bilities? — Elizabeth Cary Agassiz. 
