“It will teach us a lesson to mind our own business,” returned Oliver. “I suppose that monkey thought we had no right to spy into his affairs.”
“I would like to own a monkey,” observed Gus; “that is, one that is peaceful. I always thought them so cute.”
“They are cute, but not always in the way you imagine. Come, I suppose we ought to be getting back.”
“Oh, there is lots of time! Why, we haven’t been gone half an hour yet. Just wait; I want to pick some of those splendid flowers growing near that pond.”
“I wouldn’t, Gus; for all you know they may be poisonous.”
“Do you think they are? They are awfully pretty.”
“I don’t know; but they might be, and you had better be on the safe side.”
“I’ll get just one of each. Here, let me have your knife.” Gus took Oliver’s knife and cut off the flowers he wished. “Phew, what a nasty smell!” he cried in disgust. “That’s the worst of it, with so many pretty flowers. The smell—oh, my! how they burn! My hand is on fire!”
He threw the flowers away from him and danced around in pain, shaking his hands in the air.
“Oh, I hope you have not been poisoned!” cried Oliver. “Go wash your hands in the pool.”