The Monkeys were very shy at first, and kept well out of reach, thronging the branches above the boys’ heads, peering at them with bright, inquisitive eyes. Then seeing that the intruders were only small man-cubs, and not dangerous, they came nearer.
“Greeting!” cried a grizzled old Monkey, who was evidently the head of the tribe. “O cubs-with-the-butterfly-wings! Welcome! In the name of the Garra-garra-pom-nutta-garra Tribe, I greet you!”
So said the aged Monkey, in a solemn manner.
Tibbs wanted to laugh as the animal mentioned the name of his tribe. “I wonder if I’ve got to call him names too?” he asked his brother, anxiously.
“’Spect so,” Kiddiwee replied, vaguely.
“Oh—er. O He-of-the-long-curly-tail!” Tibbs began, hoping the Monkey would not be offended. “I’m—I’m very well, thank you! How are you, old chap?” he concluded nervously, and feeling very foolish.
“O cubs-with-the-butterfly-wings! What want you?” asked the old Monkey, without a smile.
“Well, we’re lost. And we want you to help us out!” replied Tibbs.
