But there was one member of the family Leo did not like at all, and no inducements which his master could urge would bring him on even decently friendly terms with him.
This was Jacko, the monkey, who by his grinning and chattering, and uncouth gestures, so disgusted the great dog, that he kept as far from his cage as possible.
One morning, about three months after Minnie’s cousin Ida had come to reside with them, the little girl was taken suddenly ill. When she was partially recovered, it was curious to see her sitting bolstered up in bed, with so many pets around her.
First, there was Poll, hopping up and down from her perch to the floor of the cage, chattering continually between her fits of coughing, “I’m sick! I’m sick! O, what a cold!” and then, changing her tone, “better now! better to-day!”
On the bed were Fidelle and Tiney, the latter nestled closely under his little mistress’s arm.
By the side of the couch, with his fore paws resting on the white counterpane, stood Leo, grave and dignified, seeming to realize more than any of them what a sad thing it was for Minnie to be lying there, instead of running over the grounds as usual.
Just at this moment, Anne came into the room bringing Jacko, who began to grin and chatter with delight.
Mrs. Lee directed the woman to fasten the monkey’s chain tightly to the post of the bedstead, and let him have his liberty; but she soon regretted having done so, for Leo, who had bristled up the moment Jacko came in, with a deep growl sprang upon him, and would have torn him in pieces, had not the united force of several persons present caught the little fellow away, and shut him in a closet.
The excitement proved too much for Minnie, and she began to sob hysterically.
Leo came to lick her hand, apparently aware that he had done wrong, but she cried out,—