“He is frightened—I know not,” said Hugh, shaking his head. He was, however, almost as anxious as the other children could be to show off his new possession, and, thanks either to an offered nut, or to the trust which the monkey instinctively felt towards his deliverer, the little creature came swiftly down, hanging by hand and tail from the rafters, to intensest delight of both Anne and Eleanor, and finally leaping upon Hugh’s shoulder, where it cracked its nut with all the confidence possible. It was small and rather pretty, and it wore much such a little coat as monkeys wear now. Eleanor could not contain her delight. She wanted to have it in her own arms, but her first attempt to remove it from its perch brought such a storm of angry chattering that Anne in terror plucked her sister’s little gown and implored her to come away. Eleanor drew back unwillingly.
“Why doesn’t he like me?” she demanded. “I love him. What is his name?”
“Agrippa.”
“Agrippa! And can he do tricks? Yesterday he did tricks.”
“He knows me not yet, mistress,” explained Hugh. “His master died suddenly, and he had no other friend.”
“But thou wilt be his friend,” said Eleanor, looking earnestly at the boy, “and so will I. I will leave him all these nuts. Anne, I would my father would give us a monkey!”
“I like him not,” said Anne, fearfully withdrawing yet closer to Mistress Judith. Eleanor knew no fear. She would have taken the little creature in her arms, regardless of its sharp teeth, or of the waiting woman’s remonstrances, but that Hugh would not suffer her to make the attempt. He looked at the two little girls with an eager pride and admiration, felt as if he were responsible for all that happened, and had he been twice his age could not have treated them with more careful respect.