dog, and a very cast-down and crumpled-up-looking cat she was. She had had enough of hunting gingerbread men, and she crept back to the kitchen to repair damages.

The dog, who was very cross because his face had been badly scratched, let go of the cook, and at last, catching sight of the gingerbread man, made a bolt for the garden wall. The cook picked herself up, and although her face was also badly scratched and her dress was torn, she was determined to see the end of the chase, and she followed after the dog, though this time more slowly.

Meanwhile, the gingerbread man had got to the bottom of the tree, and was saying to himself: “Now, I know the dog can’t climb a tree, and I don’t believe the old cook can climb a tree; and as for the monkey I’m not sure, for I’ve never seen a monkey before, but I am going up.”

So he pulled himself up hand over hand until he had got to the topmost branch.

But the monkey had jumped with one spring onto the lowest branch, and in an instant he also was at the top of the tree.

The gingerbread man crawled out to the furthermost end of the branch, and hung by one hand, but the monkey swung himself under the branch, and stretching out his long arm, he pulled the gingerbread man in. Then he held him up and looked at him so hungrily that the little raisin mouth began to pucker down at the corners, and the caraway-seed eyes filled with tears.

And then what do you think happened? Why, little Bobby himself came running up. He had been taking his noon-day nap upstairs, and in his dreams it seemed as if he kept hearing people call