father was a doctor, away from home much of the time. That was why
their great-aunt had them in charge.

Their mother had come out to her father's home in California to grow
strong and well. The sun burned a pink into the blossoms of the
oleander hedges, and the wind blew life into the swaying branches of
the pepper-trees, but neither seemed to make her any better. After
awhile she could not even be carried out to her place in the hammock.
Then they sent for Doctor Tremont and the children.

The first that I knew of their arrival, the two boys came whooping
down the paths after the gardener, shouting, "Show us the monkeys,
David! Show us the monkeys! Which one is Dago, and which one is
Matches?"

I did not want to come down for fear that Stuart might treat me as he
had done Elsie's kitten. I had heard a letter read, which told how he
had tried to cure it of fits. He gave it a shock with his father's
electric battery, and turned the current on so strong that he killed
it. Not knowing but that he might try some trick on me, I held back
until I saw him feeding peanuts to Matches. I never could bear her.
She is the only monkey in the garden that I have never been on
friendly terms with, so I came down at once to get my share of
peanuts, and hers, too, if possible.

I must say that I took a great fancy to both the boys; they were so
friendly and good-natured. They each had round chubby faces, and hard
little fists. There was a wide-awake look in their big, honest, gray
eyes, and their light hair curled over their heads in little tight
rings. Elsie was only five,--a restless, dimpled little bunch of