WHAT THE MIRROR-MONKEY HEARD ON WEDNESDAY.


Do you see any gray hairs in my fur, Ring-tail, or any new wrinkles in
my face? Life in this family is such a wear and tear on the nerves
that I feel that I am growing old fast. So much happens every day.
Something is always happening here. Really, I have had more exciting
experiences in one short forenoon, here in this house, than I used to
have in a whole month in the Zoo. It is bad for me to be in such a
state of constant fright.

The day after I was divided between Phil and Stuart, the boys of the
neighbourhood had a Cuban war in our back yard. At least they started
to have one,--built a camp-fire and put up a tent and got their
ammunition ready. Each side made a great pile of soft mud-balls, and
it was agreed that as soon as a soldier was hit and spotted by the
moist clinging stuff he was to be counted dead. You see the sport was
not dangerous, only dirty.

Stuart had his coat off, rolling mud-balls with all his might and
main. He was plastered with mud to his elbows, and his face was a
sight.

Phil was busy sweeping up dead leaves for the camp-fire. Suddenly he
dropped his old broom and went trotting off toward the house. "I am
going to get something that will make it sound like a real war," he
said to me as he left. The boys did not hear him, and he came back
presently, with his little blue blouse all pouched out in front with
the things he had stuffed inside of it.