THE TRUE STORY OF PEDRO
“Three balls for five cents, Mister. Have a shot at the monk.”
Young Mr. Williams wondered what the man meant as he held out three hard balls painted in bright colors. Mr. Williams had gone to Woodlyn Park with his little niece and nephew for an afternoon of pleasure.
“Oh, look, uncle!” cried the little boy; “don’t you see the monkey? There! see his face through the hole in that sheet? The men throw the balls at him.”
Mr. Williams did, indeed, see Pedro’s poor little scared face. Just as he caught sight of it, bang! a man threw a ball that hit the monkey on the head.
“Oh, I am afraid they will kill the poor little monkey,” cried the little girl. “Can’t we make them stop, uncle?”
“There isn’t much use in talking to these men,” said Mr. Williams. “The best thing to do is to notify the ‘cruelty lady.’ We will do that as soon as we get home; shall we?”
“Oh, yes, indeed,” cried the children. “Let us go right away.”
The “cruelty lady” started immediately for the park. When she saw how the little monkey was being abused, she had the two men who owned him arrested. Although they were very angry, she was not afraid of them.
The poor monkey was taken away from his cruel masters and carried to the home of a good woman, who cared for the sick little animal.
For days Pedro lay exhausted in the nice soft bed she made for him.
She bathed the many, many bruises on his poor little body, and fed him good wholesome food.
In about ten days, Pedro began to feel better, and showed how much he appreciated the kindness of his new mistress by following her everywhere he could.
He got into mischief, too, by trying to do everything he saw people do. One day, when his mistress had stepped out into the garden, he turned the key on the inside of the door, and locked her out.
It was a good thing that one of the second-story windows was open, so that a young man could climb up and get inside and unlock the door.
The last time I heard of Pedro, he was living happily with other monkeys in the Zoological Garden.
Let us speak for thoseThat cannot speak for themselves.
Let us speak for thoseThat cannot speak for themselves.
Let us speak for those
That cannot speak for themselves.
Even the smallest kind act is never lost. It isn’t always the size of the good deed that counts.