s of prairie
chickens, and during one of the hunting expeditions he found several
nests of eggs. They are just as much more delicious than the common egg
as the prairie chicken is more delicate than the hen. Baby never
thereafter forgot the eggs. Singularly, he never ate any of them.
Apparently the orang does not crave them in his native state, but the
little rascal had an eye to the good things, and when he saw the eggs go
into the pudding and cake, there were no scruples on his part.

George had been planning a surprise for the Professor. In many devious
ways he learned his age, and August was the month, so in concert with
Harry, planned to treat the Professor with a birthday party, the first
real attempt at jollification which had been proposed since they landed.

"I remember, he said he would be sixty-five years old on the tenth of
August."

"But the trouble is, we don't know when we get to the 10th of the
month."

"The chances are he doesn't know, either. But what difference does a day
or two make, anyway?"

Among the delicacies which George had prepared were 65 little sweet
cakes, because they couldn't put that many candles on the big cake, and
the boys knew, from experience, that they would have to use candles, or
something else to typify the age.

The "tenth of August" came, and the Professor, in all innocence,
proposed a day for hunting. Both boys opposed this, to his surprise. The
Professor did not press the matter. As usual, when at home, he was shut
up in what they called the laboratory. Even though he should be present
in the kitchen he would not be likely to take notice of any extra
preparations.

In the meantime Harry had made a bell out of a flat sheet of steel. It
was really a gong. When the noon hour arrived and the table had been set
ready for the symbolic cake pyramid of little cakes, George ordered the
gong to sound, and Harry made such a frightful din with the unexpected
noise, that Baby was terribly frightened, and scampered to the loft, his
usual place of retreat when reproved or unduly excited.

The Professor was out of the laboratory like a shot, and hurried over to
the house. At the same time George returned. "Who has taken my cakes?"
he cried. "There are less than a dozen left." Baby chattered in the
loft. The Professor could not understand the commotion. All he knew was
that Baby was swinging along the rafters and that George was flying
around the kitchen hunting cakes.

"Hello,