"And pigs have little, ugly, dirty eyes; mean and wicked too. You need not laugh; it is true."

"I don't know how pigs' eyes look," said Matilda. "But it is very curious. For of course _they_ do not know any better; so how should they be wicked? Those tigers, they looked as if they hadn't any heart at all. Don't you think a dog has a heart, Norton?"

Norton laughed, and pulled her on to a cage at a little distance from the wolf, where there were a party of monkeys. And next door to them was a small ape in a cell alone. Matilda forgot everything else here.

These creatures were so inimitably odd, sly and comical; had such an air of knowing what they were about, and expecting you to understand it too; looking at you as though they could take you into their confidence, if it were worth while; it was impossible to get away from them. Norton had some nuts in his pocket; with these he and the monkeys made great game; while the little ape raked in the straw litter of his cage to find any stray seeds or bits of food which might have sifted down through it to the floor, managing his long hand-like paw as gracefully as the most elegant lady could move her dainty fingers.

Matilda and Norton staid with the monkeys, till the feeding hour had arrived; then Norton hurried back to the tigers. A man was coming the rounds with a basket full of great joints of raw meat; and it was notable to see how carefully he had to manage to let the tiger have his piece before the tigress got hers. He watched and waited, till he got a chance to thrust the meat into the cage at the end where the tiger's paw would the next instant be.

"Why?" Matilda asked Norton.

"There'd be an awful fight, I guess, if he didn't," said Norton; "and that other creature would stand a chance to get whipped; and her coat would be scratched; that's all the man cares for."

"And is that the reason the tigress keeps out of the tiger's way so?"

"Of course. Some people would say, I suppose, that she was _amiable_."

"I never should, to look in her face," said Matilda laughing. "Tigers certainly are wicked. But, they do not know any better. How can it be wickedness?"

"Now come, Pink," said Norton; "we have got to be home by one, you know, and there's a fellow you haven't seen yet; the hippopotamus. We must go into another place to see him."

He was by himself, in a separate room, as Norton had said, where a large tank was prepared and filled with water for his accommodation.

Matilda looked at him a long time in silence and with great attention.

"Do you know, Norton," she said, "this is the _behemoth_ the Bible speaks about?"

"I don't know at all," said Norton. "How do you know?"

"Mr. Richmond says so; he says people have found out that it is so. But he don't seem to me very big, Norton, for that."

The keeper explained, that the animal was a young one and but half grown.

"How tremendously ugly he is!" said Norton.

"And what a wonderful number of different animals there are in the world," said Matilda. "This is unlike anything I ever saw. I wonder why there are such a number?"

"And so many of them not good for anything," said Norton.

"Oh Norton, you can't say that, you know."

"Why not? This fellow, for instance; what is he good for?"

"I don't know; and you don't know. But that's just it, Norton. You _don't_ know."

"Well, what are lions and tigers good for?" said Norton. "I suppose we know about them. What are they good for?"

"Why Norton, I can't tell," said Matilda. "I would very much like to know. But they must be good for something."

"To eat up people, and make the places where they live a terror," said Norton.

"I don't know," said Matilda, with a very puzzled look on her little face. "It seems so strange, when you think of it. And those great serpents, Norton, that live where the lions and tigers live; they are worse yet."

"Little and big," said Norton. "I do despise a snake!"

"And crocodiles," said Matilda. "And wolves, and bears. I wonder if the Bible tells anything about it."

"The Bible don't tell everything, Pink," said Norton laughing.

"No, but I remember now what it does say," said Matilda. "It says that G.o.d saw everything that he had made, and it was very good."

Norton looked with a funny look at his little companion, amused and yet with a kind of admiration mixed with his amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I wonder how you and David would get along," he remarked. "He is as touchy on that subject as you are."

"What subject?" said Matilda. "The Bible?"

"The Old Testament. The Jewish Scriptures. Not the New! Don't ever bring up the _New_ Testament to him, Pink, unless you want stormy weather."

"Is he bad-tempered?" Matilda asked curiously.

"He's Jewish-tempered," said Norton. "He has his own way of looking at things, and he don't like yours. I mean, anybody's but his own. What a quant.i.ty it must take to feed this enormous creature!"

"You may take your affidavit of that!" said the keeper, who was an Irishman. "Faith, I think he's as bad as fifty men."

"What do you give him?"

"Well, he belongs to the vegetable kingdom intirely, ye see, sir."

"He's a curious water-lily, isn't he?" said Norton low to Matilda. But that was more than either of them could stand, and they turned away and left the place to laugh. It was time then, they found, to go home.

A car was not immediately in sight when they came out into the street, and Norton and Matilda walked a few blocks rather than stand still. It had grown to be a very disagreeable day. The weather was excessively cold, and a very strong wind had risen; which now went careering along the streets, catching up all the dust of them in turn, and before letting it drop again whirling it furiously against everybody in its way. Matilda struggled along, but the dust came in thick clouds and filled her eyes and mouth and nose and lodged in all her garments. It seemed to go through everything she had on, and with the dirt came the cold. Shadywalk never saw anything like this! As they were crossing one of the streets in their way, Matilda stopped short just before setting her foot on the curb-stone. A little girl with a broom in her hand stood before her and held out her other hand for a penny. The child was ragged, and her rags were of the colour of the dust which filled everything that day; hair and face and dress were all of one hue.

"Please, a penny," she said, barring Matilda's way.

"Norton, have you got a penny?" said Matilda bewildered.

"Nonsense!" said Norton, "we can't be bothered to stop for all the street-sweepers we meet. Come on, Pink." He seized Matilda's hand, and she was drawn on, out of the little girl's range, before she could stop to think about it. Two streets further on, they crossed an avenue; and here Matilda saw two more children with brooms, a boy and a girl. This time she saw what they were about. They were sweeping the crossing clean for the feet of the pa.s.sers-by. But their own feet were bare on the stones. The next minute Norton had hailed a car and he and Matilda got in. Her eyes and mouth were so full of dust and she was so cold, it was a little while before she could ask questions comfortably.

"What are those children you wouldn't let me speak to?" she said, as soon as she was a little recovered.

"Street-sweepers," said Norton. "Regular nuisances! The police ought to take them up, and shut them up."

"Why, Norton?"

"Why? why because they're such a nuisance. You can't walk a half mile without having half a dozen of them holding out their hands for pennies. A fellow can't carry his pocket full of pennies and keep it full!"

"But they sweep the streets, don't they?"

"The crossings; yes. I wish they didn't. They are an everlasting bother."