Ben's experienced ear had told him at the first crash that his
wagon was breaking down, and, without having time to warn Toby of
his peril, he had leaped clear of the wreck, keeping his horses
under perfect control and thus averting more trouble. It was the
breaking of one of the axles which Toby had heard just before he
was thrown from his seat and when the body of the wagon came down
upon the hard road.
The monkeys, thus suddenly released from confinement, had scampered
off in every direction, and by a singular chance Toby's aged friend
started for the woods in such a direction as to bring him directly
before the boy's insensible form. The monkey, on coming up to Toby,
stopped, urged by the well known curiosity of its race, and began
to examine the boy's person carefully, prying into pockets and
trying to open the boy's half closed eyelids. Fortunately for Toby,
he had fallen upon a mud bank and was only stunned for the moment,
having received no serious bruises. The attentions bestowed upon
him by the monkey served the purpose of bringing him to his senses;
and, after he had looked around him in the gray light of the coming
morning, it would have taken far more of a philosopher than Old
Ben was to persuade the boy that monkeys did not possess reasoning
faculties.
The monkey was busy at Toby's ears, nose, and mouth, as monkeys
will do when they get an opportunity, and the expression of its face
was as grave as possible.
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