"Listen," said the monkey. "I could take you to a lovely island."
Gwendolen frowned a little.
"But I don't know," she said, "that my aunt's very fond of islands."
"She would be of this," said the monkey. "What's your aunt fondest of?"
Gwendolen thought for a moment.
"Buttered toast," she said.
"Well, it's ever so much nicer," said the monkey, "than buttered toast."
Gwendolen looked at her aunt and then at the monkey, with his sad eyes and shaking limbs. There wasn't much time. In another minute the man and the woman would be moving on. Close beside her, in a little green box, she could see the tops of the handles of the gardener's shears. She took a deep breath. Then she made up her mind.
"All right," she said. "I'll see what I can do."
She crept to the box and took out the shears. The monkey squeezed himself through the railings. With a beating heart Gwendolen cut the string, caught up the monkey, and ran to her aunt. Her aunt looked up.