s. You just try, and
then come and tell me if it isn't the best sport in the world. These
seals--silly things!--make holes in the ice, and come up to breathe now
and then; and these holes are regular traps. Right down below the
ice-cold water lies fathoms deep, still and dark, and we cannot get the
silly things there; but here in the ice is a nice little round hole. I
have been walking with great long silent strides over the beautiful
frosty snow, and I come on one of these, and lie down beside it, hiding
myself. I have to be very still; the slightest movement would send Mr.
Seal far away. When I have waited there hour after hour, perhaps I hear
a faint sound in the water, a little ripple, so faint that anyone not
used to it would never notice it; and then I feel thrills all over me.
By-and-by the silly round head of the seal peers out, all glistening
with the wet. I am lying behind a hummock of snow--we call them hummocks
there--and he looks all round, and finally drags himself up on to the
ice; then with a bound I am on him. But there is only time for one
try--he is as quick as lightning, I can assure you--and if I miss him,
he's into that hole and down, down, down for ever, and there's my supper
gone too. But if I get him, what a juicy feast, what masses of soft
flesh and oily fat, what tearing and rending! Ah, the taste of seal!'

He licked his lips, was silent suddenly; then, with a great growl,
turned away. He had remembered where he was, poor fellow, and that the
joys of seal-hunting would never be his any more!

CHAPTER XXI

THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS--_continued_

We are now not far from the monkey house, where there are great cages
the height of a room, with bars filled in by wire to prevent the monkeys
from getting their little hands through to snatch, for if ever any
saying was justified it is that one, 'as mischievous as a monkey'; yet,
in spite of the bars, mischief is sometimes done. Stand near with a hat
trimmed with flowers, and you will not have to wait long to prove it.
That large monkey who has been sitting in a corner very quietly spies
the brilliant flowers. He begins to move slowly and stealthily; then,
with a sudden wild spring, almost before you realize what has happened,
he has grabbed the bright flowers, torn them out, and danced back to the
very highest corner of his cage, where, jabbering with delight, he picks
the petals off one by one, and lets them float down to the ground. He is