Here is one of the black men who live in Australia. He is listening to the cry of the laughing jackass.
THE TRICK THEY PLAYED ON JOCKO.
Jocko was homesick. Jocko was a forest creature. He was born to tread the ground, and climb trees, and eat sweet wild fruits.
Jocko liked to leap from tree to tree, and run about over miles of woodland. Now he found himself in a cage. He called and cried, but none of his little brown playmates answered.
He could see only blue waves, and the ropes and masts and sails of the ship. He was tossed up and down. His cage swung from side to side. The motion made him sick—seasick.
After many days, he saw the land again. But it was not forest land. It was brown land—city land. No moss, no vines, no dewy green grass, no flowers! All stone and brick! His cage was carried into a hotel dining-room where people came and sat down and talked in German, and ate things that Jocko knew were not good to eat—bread and pies and cheese and sauerkraut and meat. Oh, how Jocko wanted a fresh sweet cocoanut!
But by and by Jocko was not so homesick. The cook was kind to him, and gave him sweet bits to eat. The visitors took him up and petted him. The little girl who lived at the hotel made him a nice bed in the little crib she used to sleep in.
So at last Jocko had a good time, and forgot about the woods.