Inside was still another garden.  I had expected to find cages with animals inside them.  But there were none to be seen.  Instead there were little stone houses here and there all over the garden; and each house had a window and a door.  As we walked in, many of these doors opened and animals came running out to us evidently expecting food.

“Haven’t the doors any locks on them?” I asked the Doctor.

“Oh yes,” he said, “every door has a lock.  But in my zoo the doors open from the inside, not from the out.  The locks are only there so the animals can go and shut themselves in any time they want to get away from the annoyance of other animals or from people who might come here.  Every animal in this zoo stays here because he likes it, not because he is made to.”

“They all look very happy and clean,” I said.  “Would you mind telling me the names of some of them?”

“Certainly.  Well now:  that funny-looking thing with plates on his back, nosing under the brick over there, is a South American armadillo.  The little chap talking to him is a Canadian woodchuck.  They both live in those holes you see at the foot of the wall.  The two little beasts doing antics in the pond are a pair of Russian minks—­ and that reminds me:  I must go and get them some herrings from the town before noon—­it is early-closing to-day.  That animal just stepping out of his house is an antelope, one of the smaller South African kinds.  Now let us move to the other side of those bushes there and I will show you some more.”

“Are those deer over there?” I asked.

“Deer!” said the Doctor.  “Where do you mean?”

“Over there,” I said, pointing—­“nibbling the grass border of the bed.  There are two of them.”

“Oh, that,” said the Doctor with a smile.  “That isn’t two animals:  that’s one animal with two heads—­the only two-headed animal in the world.  It’s called the ‘pushmi-pullyu.’  I brought him from Africa.  He’s very tame—­ acts as a kind of night-watchman for my zoo.  He only sleeps with one head at a time, you see very handy—­the other head stays awake all night.”

“Have you any lions or tigers?” I asked as we moved on.

“No,” said the Doctor.  “It wouldn’t be possible to keep them here—­ and I wouldn’t keep them even if I could.  If I had my way, Stubbins, there wouldn’t be a single lion or tiger in captivity anywhere in the world.  They never take to it.  They’re never happy.  They never settle down.  They are always thinking of the big countries they have left behind.  You can see it in their eyes, dreaming—­dreaming always of the great open spaces where they were born; dreaming of the deep, dark jungles where their mothers first taught them how to scent and track the deer.  And what are they given in exchange for all this?” asked the Doctor, stopping in his walk and growing all red and angry—­“What are they given in exchange for the glory of an African sunrise,