''
``He behaved like a monkey,'' said Miss Wepley.
Her unfavourable verdict was echoed in other quarters
about the same time. Groby Lington had never been a hero in
the eyes of his personal retainers, but he had shared the
approval accorded to his defunct parrot as a cheerful
well-dispositioned body, who gave no particular trouble. Of
late months, however, this character would hardly have been
endorsed by the members of his domestic establishment. The
stolid stable-boy, who had first announced to him the tragic
end of his feathered pet, was one of the first to give voice
to the murmurs of disapproval which became rampant and
general in the servants' quarters, and he had fairly
substantial grounds for his disaffection. In a burst of hot
summer weather he had obtained permission to bathe in a
modest-sized pond in the orchard, and thither one afternoon
Groby had bent his steps, attracted by loud imprecations of
anger mingled with the shriller chattering of
monkey-language. He beheld his plump diminutive servitor,
clad only in a waistcoat and a pair of socks, storming
ineffectually at the monkey which was seated on a low branch
of an apple tree, abstractedly fingering the remainder of
the boy's outfit, which he had removed just out of his
reach.
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