and to pick the wild fruits, or catch some insect which she could crush for her amusement. To our appeals Nyanga answered only by cries of joy, as if to let us know she was doing very well where she was. My Senegalian sergeant had gone to a neighboring village to engage some pirogues with which we might cross the lagoon in continuance of our journey. He might
M. Dybowski's Little Congo Monkey.
(From a photograph by M. J. Ducom, taken in the Jardin des Plantes, Paris.)
return at any moment, and it would be impossible for us to wait indefinitely till our monkey should be willing to be caught. It would probably return at night to the camp, but it would be a whole day lost, and a complication added to our march to wait for that. I was perplexed which alternative to choose—whether to abandon the monkey or lose our time, perhaps for no good—for
