"Why are you so sad this morning?" asked Pwit-Pwit. "The weather is simply perfect."
But Dozel merely sighed, and turned her gaze wistfully in the direction of the Elephant House. Nothing so delighted her as the loud trumpetings of Mahmoud and his mate, and she always let her eyes roam in their direction when anything unusual was on her mind.
"You ought to be happy," continued the sparrow; "you certainly never looked handsomer, with your brown skin so soft and velvety that the little white spots scattered over it look like snowflakes, and your eyes so clear and tender—tut, tut, now Dozel, my dear. The idea of your crying on a morning like this!"
"I can't help it," whimpered the beautiful creature. "It's enough to make any one weep."
Pwit-Pwit hopped on to Dozel's back and together they took a turn about the yard.
"And I'm blest if you're not limping, you, of all people in the world!" said the sparrow, in astonishment.
"It's out of sympathy," sighed Dozel. "When I think of my own legs, so straight and slender and swift, I can't help thinking of the little Limping Boy and his poor, crooked leg, with the iron on it. There he stands now. Isn't it pitiful? Oh, dear, oh, dear!"
"True, it is very sad," said Pwit-Pwit, soberly; "but what can't be cured must be endured, you know."
"The worst part of it," said the deer, "is that there is something about the little Limping Boy's walk that reminds me of those chattering, screaming monkeys I remember so well in the jungle. There are some of them over in a corner of the Lion House. I can't bear them."