She took to her studies admirably, and enjoyed the whole thing as much as anyone.
The monkey was a perpetual marvel to Gypsy.

They became bosom-friends in an incredibly brief period, and were never easy out of each other's sight.

Prince Zany--that's what Pepper Whitcomb and I christened him one day, much to the disgust of the monkey, who bit a piece out of Pepper's nose--resided in the stable, and went to roost every night on the pony's back, where I usually found him in the morning.

Whenever I rode out, I was obliged to secure his Highness the Prince with a stout cord to the fence, he chattering all the time like a madman.
One afternoon as I was cantering through the crowded part of the town, I noticed that the people in the street stopped, stared at me, and fell to laughing.

I turned round in the saddle, and there was Zany, with a great burdock leaf in his paw, perched up behind me on the crupper, as solemn as a judge.
After a few months, poor Zany sickened mysteriously, and died.