Mappo's fur was all ruffled by being caught in the net, and he now began
to smooth that out, until he looked more like himself. He peered through
between the slats of his cage with his queer little eyes, and there was
a sad look in them, if any one had noticed. But no one did. The natives
were getting ready to carry Mappo to the coast.

Poor Mappo looked out on the green jungle where he had lived ever since
he could remember. He did not know that he was never to see it again.
He would never climb the big trees, and swing from one branch to
another. He would not play tag with his brothers and sisters, nor would
he open cocoanuts on a sharp stick and by dropping them on a stone.
Mappo was to be taken away from his nice jungle.

Of course he did not know all this at once. All he knew now was that he
was in a little crate, where he had hardly room enough to turn around,
and no room at all to hang by his tail.

"Come on--let's start with him!" called one of the black men. "We'll
take him to the white people, and come back and catch some more
monkeys."

"Oh, I hope they catch some of my folks!" thought Mappo. He did not wish
any harm to happen to his father or mother, or sisters or brothers, you
know, but he was so lonesome, that he wanted to see some of them.

The natives thrust long poles through the slats of Mappo's box, and,
putting the poles over their shoulders, off through the jungle they
started to march.

Poor Mappo was very thirsty by this time, but though he chattered very