n this mail."

"Certainly, Michael," offered Cleo. Then a thought struck her that
seemed to offer some solution of the difficulties at the studio. Maybe
Michael's cousin could keep house for Mary and her grandfather?

"Mary," she whispered, "do you mind if I ask Michael about his cousin?
She might go to the studio for us."

"Oh, wouldn't that be splendid!" and something like joy shot across
Mary's pale face. "I know any friend of Michael's would be faithful."

But Michael was just spying the little animal in Mary's arm. And the
animal seemed to be just spying Michael!

"What on earth--have you got--there!" gasped the caretaker.

"Oh, the dearest little monkey----" Cleo attempted to explain, but was
interrupted with a protest.

"A monkey!" cried Michael. "Of all the hated animals of the earth a
monkey is the worst. Where ever did you pick the creature up?" He
stepped nearer to examine the mascot, in spite of his denunciation.

"Now you couldn't hate a little thing like that," insisted Grace.
"Just see, he wants to shake hands with you."

Rather awkwardly the man extended one big brown finger. The queer
little creature made a comical effort to grasp it, and at the same time
shake his wizened head with a show of monkey intelligence.

"I don't exactly know why it is, but the Irish hate monkeys!" admitted
Michael, with a hearty laugh that interpreted the joke.

"But you will love this one," insisted Mary. "He is as tame as a
kitten."

"And even Shep was kind to him," went on Grace. "Say, Michael,"
coaxingly, "couldn't we take him in your rooms for something to eat?
He must be starved. We found him--in an empty house," explained Grace.

"And he needs it--I mean an empty house," declared Michael. "Can't you
see him making himself at home in my little sitting room? I'll bet he
would want to sleep in my best tea pot, or maybe he would prefer my new
hat. They always like hats when they go around with the organ
grinders. But tell me, girls, where did you get him? I don't want a
couple of hurdy-gurdy pushers coming down on me for their monka," he
finished, with a very weak imitation of the Italian accent.

"Someone left him in Mary's house, or else he came in by the chimney,"
said Madaline. "But at any rate he is ours, and we are going to have
him for a pet. Now, Michael, please give him something to eat. See
how pale he is."

Whether willingly or reluctantly, Michael now led the way to his
quar