On the following day, by an accident in which I really had no part, except that of being present, Nellie escaped from her cage, and climbed up on a shelf occupied by some bird-cages. As she attempted to climb up, of course the light wicker cages with their little yellow occupants fell to the floor by the dozen. I tried to induce her to return or to come to me, but the falling cages, the cry of the birds, the talking of parrots, and the scream of other monkeys, frightened poor Nellie almost out of her wits. Thinking that I was the cause of her trouble, because I was present, she would scream with fright at my approach. She was not an exception to that general rule which governs monkeydom, which is to suspect every one of doing wrong except itself. I had her removed to my apartment, where I supplied her with bells and toys, and fed her on the fat of the land; and by this means we slowly knitted together the broken bones of our friendship once more. But when once a monkey has grown suspicious of you they never recover entirely from it, it seems, for in every act thereafter, however slight, you can readily see that they suspect you of it; but with great care and caution you can make them almost forget the trouble. While I kept Nellie at my rooms I made some good records of her speech on the phonograph, and studied her with special care; but as the province of this work is the speech of that little race, I must forego the pleasure of telling some intensely funny things with which she entertained me, excepting so far as they are relevant to speech. [Sidenote: NELLIE'S FONDNESS FOR A LITTLE BOY]