Trembling all over, and too terrified to utter one little cry for his mother, Mona found himself at last outside his bed, getting nearer and nearer to that horrible thing in the corner.  His poor, little head began to feel sick and dizzy; his poor little limbs were shaking so that he could scarcely move, and yet he was going on and on, closer and closer, and not once since he encountered the gaze of those terrible eyes had he been able to move his own.

At this moment he became so frightfully sick and giddy, while his eyes were getting so strained that they ached painfully, that he began to forget where he was.  He seemed to be going off in some dreadful dream from which he had no power to rouse himself; and there was a curious hissing going on, which seemed to have a dreadful menace in it.

Just as he was going off in this dream, however, he heard faintly in the distance his mother’s voice.  He did his best to call to her, to cry out, but he was going deeper and deeper into the dream, and in a very few seconds knew nothing more.

When Mona woke up it was to find his little mother’s arms round him; his little mother raining tears of joy and thankfulness upon his face, and a number of sympathizing neighbors chattering at the very top of their voices.

Mona, it seemed, had had a terrible adventure.  Such a narrow escape, in fact, that it was a great wonder he was still alive.  For the horrible thing in the corner turned out to be a dreadful snake.

“One of our greatest enemies,” his mother told him, her motherly eyes still full of tears.  “Monkeys have such a lot of enemies, Mona,” she said, gently.  “There are snakes, and leopards, and parrots and—­”

“Tut, tut!” the old mother-monkey interrupted, sharply.  “What is the good of telling the child all that?  He will get to know fast enough.”

“But if he had known,” Monica said, gently, caressing her little one with a tender air, and feeling thankful—­oh, so thankful!—­that she had arrived just in time to call off the snake’s attention.  “If he had known, he might have—­”

“Well, what could he have done?” the old mother monkey said, sharply.  “You know what snakes are.”

All the monkeys gathered together, shivered, and glanced round uneasily.

“You know what snakes are; what can you do when you are brought face to face with them like that, and both in a hut?”

Monica nodded gravely, and felt more thankful than ever that her baby had been spared to her.

“I told you he was unlucky,” the old mother monkey said, gravely, “but I also told you that he would never come to much harm.”

And so it proved.  For Mona, as life went on, was always unlucky, but he never came to much harm, although he had some exciting adventures.

As he grew up he became stronger, but always remained a quiet monkey, inclined to whimper.

Quiet monkeys, when inclined to whimper, always have a bad time.  Their fellow-monkeys have no patience with their delicacy or whimpering, and do their very best to impress this upon their fellow-creatures as much as possible, in a practical manner.  Slaps, sharp tweaks of the tail, and continual teazing, are considered good for both these complaints, and of these little Mona got the full benefit.  Altogether, he had an extremely hard time of it.