“Oh, yes, when her mother or father brings her. She is too little to come alone. Some day when she comes I’ll walk along with her, and then I can tell you who she is. I’ll come into your cage and tell you.”
“All right,” said Chunky. “I’d like to see the little girl.” And he was going to, soon, in a queer way.
For some time Chunky lived in his cage in the park. Sometimes he thought of the jungle he had been taken away from, and he wondered what his brother and sister were doing—whether they were playing water-tag in the muddy river or sleeping in the soft grass.
Back in the African forest Mr. and Mrs. Hippo had given up thinking about Chunky. If they ever remembered him at all, it was only for a moment, to wonder what had happened to him that he did not come home the last time he went away. But they thought he had been killed by some other animal, or perhaps by the black or white hunters, and they knew it was of no use to try to find the happy hippo.
One day, just after Chunky had finished doing his trick of catching some loaves of bread tossed into his mouth by his keeper, the hippo heard a voice saying in animal talk:
“Well, Chunky, to-morrow I will bring my little girl mistress to see you,” and in ran Don, the dog.
“Will you, really? That will be fine!” said Chunky. “I’ll be glad to see any friend of yours.”
Then he opened his mouth wide, as the keeper told him to, and all the people laughed.
The next afternoon, as Chunky was about to go into his tank to have a cool swim, for the day was hot, he saw Don run in between the bars of the cage. The dog said:
“Here comes my little girl. I’ll bark three times when she gets right in front of you, so you’ll know which one is she. And do some of your tricks for her, please.”