"Oh, I think not," Mr. Brown answered. "But he was cold and shivery, so the children wrapped him up."
"Well, I'm much obliged," said Mr. Winkler. "Come along home, Wango!" he called, and the monkey leaped into his master's arms, dropping the stick, which he no longer needed. "What's that nice smell?" asked Mr. Winkler, as he started for home. "Did somebody break a bottle of perfume?"
"It's orange blossoms," explained Bunny.
"And we're going to Florida and pick oranges," added Sue. "But there aren't any monkeys there."
"Then that's the place where my sister ought to go," laughed the old man. "She hates monkeys, and I think sometimes she leaves the windows open or unlocked on purpose so Wango'll get lost. But I wouldn't want to tell her that," he went on. For Miss Winkler was of rather a sour disposition, not at all as jolly and happy as her brother.
When the old sailor and his pet had gone and supper was over, Bunny and Sue sat near their father and mother, talking happily about the coming trip to the sunny South where the orange blossoms grow. The flowers had been brought downstairs and filled the rooms with fragrance.
"You'll be sure to take us now, won't you, Daddy?" asked Bunny, as he and Sue started for bed a little later.
"Oh, yes, we shall all go South," promised Mr. Brown. "But you can't make snow men or go coasting there, Bunny."
"Picking oranges will be more fun," decided the little boy.
He and Sue had happy dreams that night, and there were no visions of alligators mingled with those of orange flowers.