was always
making experiments. This time he wanted to experiment on me with a
handful of tobacco,--coax me to eat it, you know, and see what effect
it would have. But Stuart objected. He was afraid it might make me
sick, and proposed trying it on Phil's monkey first. So they called
Matches, and the silly little beast was so pleased and flattered by
their attention that she stood up and ate all they gave her. She did
not like it, I could see that, but they praised her and coaxed her,
and it turned her head. Usually I received the most attention.

It did not seem to hurt her any, so Sim offered me some. But I would
not take it. I folded my hands, first over my ears and then over my
eyes. Then I held them over my mouth. Stuart thought it wonderfully
smart of me, and so did Sim, when he found that it was a trick that
Stuart's grandfather had taught me. The old man had an ebony
paper-weight on his library table, which he called "the three wise
monkeys of Japan." They were carved sitting back to back. The first
one had its paws folded over its eyes in token that it must never see
more than it ought to see, the second covered its ears that it might
not hear more than it ought to hear, and the third solemnly held its
paws over its mouth, in order that it might never say more than it
ought to say.

Stuart thought that I had forgotten the trick. He told Sim that it was
the only one I knew. I was glad that he had never discovered that I am
a trained monkey. If he had known how many tricks I can perform life
wouldn't have been worth living. It would have been like an endless
circus, with me for the only performer. As it was, I was made to go
through that one trick of the wise monkeys of Japan until I was
heartily disgusted with it, or with anything else, in fact, that
suggested the land of the Mikado.

Stuart was in a hurry to show me off to the other fellows, so he
caught me up under his arm, and started off to the ball-ground, where
most of them were to be found. Matches tried to follow us, but Sim
drove her back, and the last I saw of her she was under the table,
whimpering. It was a soft little complaining cry she had, almost like
the chirp of a sleepy bird, and when she made it her mouth drew up
into a pitiful little pucker.

I slept in the laundry that night, for it was after dark when we got
home, and the boys were not allowed to carry a light up into the
attic. Next day, when Stuart took me back to my room, there lay