figure, which turned toward her a little, weird-looking, wistful face.

"Why, it's the monkey!" she cried. "It is the Indian Gentleman's monkey!
Where can he have come from?"

It was the monkey, sitting up and looking so like a mite of a child
that it really was quite pathetic; and very soon Sara found out how he
happened to be in her room. The skylight was open, and it was easy to
guess that he had crept out of his master's garret-window, which was
only a few feet away and perfectly easy to get in and out of, even for a
climber less agile than a monkey. He had probably climbed to the garret
on a tour of investigation, and getting out upon the roof, and being
attracted by the light in Sara's attic, had crept in. At all events this
seemed quite reasonable, and there he was; and when Sara went to him, he
actually put out his queer, elfish little hands, caught her dress, and
jumped into her arms.

"Oh, you queer, poor, ugly, foreign little thing!" said Sara, caressing
him. "I can't help liking you. You look like a sort of baby, but I am
so glad you are not, because your mother could not be proud of you, and
nobody would dare to say you were like any of your relations. But I do
like you; you have such a forlorn little look in your face. Perhaps you
are sorry you are so ugly, and it's always on your mind. I wonder if you
have a mind?"

The monkey sat and looked at her while she talked, and seemed much
interested in her remarks, if one could judge by his eyes and his
forehead, and the way he moved his head up and down, and held it
sideways and scratched it with his little hand. He examined Sara quite
seriously, and anxiously, too. He felt the stuff of her dress, touched