The little monkey tried and tried again to break out of the net, but he could not.  It was too strong.  Tighter and tighter it was pulled about him, until he could struggle no more.  He lay there, a sad little lump of monkey in the net.

Then some black men, with long sharp sticks, or spears, gathered about him, and talked very fast and loud.  You would not have understood what they said, if you had heard them, any more than you can understand dog and cat talk, but Mappo knew some of what they were saying, for he had lived in the jungle all his life, and these were natives, or jungle men.

“Ha!  We caught only one monkey!” exclaimed one tall, black man, with a long spear.

“Well, but he is a good one,” another man said.  “We will take him to the coast in a box, and sell him to the white men who will take him away in a ship.  We will get many things for him, lots of beads to put around our necks, some brass wire to make rings for our noses and ankles, and red cloth to wear.”

The natives, you see, did not want money.  They wanted beads and bits of shiny brass wire, or gay-colored cloth, to make themselves look, as they thought, very fine.  They even put rings in their noses, as well as in their ears, to decorate themselves.

“Ha!  So this is not the end of me!” thought Mappo, when he heard the black men thus talking.  “I am to be put in a box, and taken to a ship, it seems.  I wonder what a ship is like.  Well, as long as I am not to be hurt, perhaps it will be fun after all.  But I wish they would let my mamma and papa, and sisters and brothers come with me.  It is no fun being all by yourself.”

But of course Mappo’s folks were, by this time, a long way off in the jungle woods, wondering where Mappo himself was.  If they had seen him in the net, they might have tried to get him out, but they did not see him.

The net was now pulled so tightly about the little monkey, that he was in some pain.

“Bring up the box, and we’ll put him in it,” said one of the black men.  Another native came up with a box made of tree branches nailed together.  It was what is called a crate—­that is, there were spaces between the slats so Mappo could look out and get air.

“Look out.  He may bite you!” called one native to another, as the crate was placed near the net.

“Oh, I won’t give him a chance!” the other native said.

“Ha!  I won’t bite!” chattered Mappo, but the natives did not understand him.  They knew very little of monkey talk.  Mappo made up his mind that he would be good, for his mamma had often told him that was the best way to get along in this world.  “But I’m sure she never thought I would be caught in a net,” said Mappo to himself.  “I wonder if she would mean me to be good now; and not bite.  I guess she would, so I won’t nip anybody.”

Mappo had very sharp teeth, even if he was a monkey, and he could give some good hard bites.  But now he was going to be good.