had stopped. It was several minutes before
they discovered the cause, but I had found out while Stuart was
climbing back to bed with me. Swinging by her hands from the bell-rope
which ran down the centre of the car, was that miserable little
monkey, Matches, making a fool of herself and everybody else. Who but
that little imp of mischief would have done such a thing as to get up
in the middle of the night and go through a lot of gymnastic
exercises on the bell-rope? It was her swinging and jerking on the
rope that rang the bell and brought the engine to that sudden stop.

I don't know how the doctor settled it with the conductor. I know that
there was a great deal said, and Matches and I were both sent back to
the baggage-car. All the rest of the journey I had an aching head and
a bruised shoulder to keep me in mind of that hateful little Matches,
and I resolved long before we reached home that I would do something
to get even with her, before we had lived together a week.

CHAPTER II.

WHAT DAGO SAID TO THE MIRROR-MONKEY ON TUESDAY.

Ring-tail, what do you think of Miss Patricia? I'm afraid of her. The
night we came home she met us in the hall, looking so tall and severe
in her black gown, with those prim little bunches of gray curls on
each side of her face, that I went under a chair. Then I thought I
must have misjudged her, for there were tears in her eyes when she
kissed the children, and I heard her whisper as she turned away, "poor
little motherless lambs!" Still I have seen so many people in the
course of my travels that I rarely make a mistake in reading
character. As soon as she caught sight of me I knew that my first
thought had been right. Her thin Roman nose went up in the air, and
her sharp eyes glared at me so savagely that I could think of nothing
else but an old war eagle, with arrows in its talons. You may have
seen them on silver dollars.

"Tom Tremont," she exclaimed, "you don't mean to say that you have
brought home a _monkey_!" I wish you could have heard the disgust in
her voice. "Of all the little pests in the world, they are certainly
the worst!"

"Yes, Aunt Patricia," he answered. "They've been a great pleasure to
the boys."

"_They!_" she gasped. "You don't mean to say that there are _two_!"
Then she saw Matches climbing up on Phil's shoulder, and words failed
her.

"Yes; their grandfather gave each of the boys one of his pets. He said
that they would be company for them on