and here, after being petted and stroked, and looked at until he was
nearly dead with fright, Graycoat was put into a horrible prison with
iron bars; and although he climbed and climbed and worked hard all
day, he never seemed to get any further up and could see no chance of
getting out. The children, wishing to be kind, but not realizing how
dreadfully cruel it was to keep him in the cage at all, put his little
prison out on the veranda, and it was with an aching heart and tears
of agony that Siccatee saw her beloved little one shut up in that
cruel cage.

She crept close and talked to Graycoat in a soft, guttural tone, and
when night drew on, and all was still and silent outside the house,
Siccatee would go to the prison and bite and gnaw with her little
teeth, and scratch with her little paws, straining every nerve in her
poor little body to set her darling free.

Graycoat's poor little heart would beat with hope every time his
mother came, and, when she hopped swiftly and softly away in the early
morning, Graycoat's little heart would sink again, and he would send
forth a pitiful little cry after his mother--a cry that went to her
very heart.

From the time that Graycoat was taken prisoner Siccatee scarcely ate
or slept. Carefully hidden behind the nearest tree, her bright little
eyes would peep out, and her soft tail wave up and down while she
watched every action and incident in the new life of her little one.

As night crept on, she would once more steal forth to the cage, and
try again and again at the same useless, hopeless task of breaking
those cruel bars.