I was not in the room all of the time, so I cannot tell what passed between Stuart and his father.  I could hear the doctor’s voice for a long time, talking in low, deep tones, very earnestly.  I know he said something about Phil’s being such a little fellow, and how the mother who had gone away would have been grieved to know that he was so unhappy.  What he said must have hurt Stuart more than a whipping, for when he came out his eyes were red, and he looked as solemn as an owl.

He had promised his father several things.  One was that he would have nothing more to do with Sim Williams, who was always leading him into trouble, and another was that he would beg Phil’s pardon, and do something to make up for the injury he had done him.  Stuart thought and thought a long time what that should be.  I know the doctor’s talk must have gone deep, for by and by he took me,—­Dago,—­his best-beloved possession, and gave me to Phil.

At first the little fellow couldn’t believe it.  “Oh, brother!” he cried.  “Do you really mean it?  Is it for keeps?”

“Yes, it’s for keeps,” said Stuart, grimly.  Then he put his hands in his pockets and walked away, whistling, although there were tears in his eyes.  But Phil ran after him with me in his arms.

“Oh, I couldn’t take all of him, Stuart,” he said.  “You are too good.  That would be too much, when you are so fond of him.  But I’d love to own half of him.  Let’s go partnerships.  You claim half, and I’ll claim half.”

Well, they decided to settle it that way, after a great deal of talking.  You can’t imagine, Ring-tail, how queer it makes me feel to be divided up in such a fashion.  Sometimes I puzzle over it until I am dizzy.  Which of me belongs to Stuart, and which of me belongs to Phil?

CHAPTER III.

What the mirror-monkey heard on Wednesday.

Do you see any gray hairs in my fur, Ring-tail, or any new wrinkles in my face?  Life in this family is such a wear and tear on the nerves that I feel that I am growing old fast.  So much happens every day.  Something is always happening here.  Really, I have had more exciting experiences in one short forenoon, here in this house, than I used to have in a whole month in the Zoo.  It is bad for me to be in such a state of constant fright.

The day after I was divided between Phil and Stuart, the boys of the neighbourhood had a Cuban war in our back yard.  At least they started to have one,—­built a camp-fire and put up a tent and got their ammunition ready.  Each side made a great pile of soft mud-balls, and it was agreed that as soon as a soldier was hit and spotted by the moist clinging stuff he was to be counted dead.  You see the sport was not dangerous, only dirty.

Stuart had his coat off, rolling mud-balls with all his might and main.  He was plastered with mud to his elbows, and his face was a sight.