"No such luck—I wish the wretched thing would die!"
"Mary,—" poor Marcia's tone was pitiful in its pleading—"please come and see what's the matter."
Then Mary came and peeped into the monkey's cosy little abode.
"It's homesick, I expect," she said indifferently; "sometimes monkeys will pine away in a few hours, for no reason except that."
Mary was drawing very much on her imagination, but how was Marcia to know this?
"Do you think if she were back with the gipsies she would get all right again?"
"Yes, in a couple of minutes," responded Mary, who thought if she could possibly influence Marcia to part with her treasure, she would have done something.
"Will she die, I wonder, unless she goes back?"
Marcia was now terribly in earnest.
"Yes," said cook cheerfully, "she'll be dead before to-morrow, I expect."