The boys went to school and returned, meeting in the barn chamber once more.

“There’s some business to be done, Mr. President,” said the “securtary,” in a very formal way.  But where was the president?  He was no more to be found than the monkey.  A little later, Wort Wentworth was looking out of the window.

“Here comes Sid,” he shouted.

Sid was running through the yard, when, seeing the boys at the window, he stopped, and shouted excitedly: 

“O, fellers, I have made a discovery!  It’s all out now.  Come!”

What was out he did not say, but turned and speedily was out himself in the lane.

“Come on, boys,” called the governor, and down the stairs they went, rushing, shoving, tumbling, just in time to see the last of Sid’s legs disappearing round the corner of the house.  They hurried after him, down the lane, then up a little passage-way between two buildings on the left.  Then they turned aside to the rear of a barn, and there the panting, confused group halted.

“There!” said Sid, solemnly, pointing as he spoke.  “The mystery is over.  Poor feller!”

Dangling from the roof by a cord that was twisted round his neck, swung the dead monkey!  In the grasp of his rigid paw was the missing dipper.

“I see the shield!” sang out Wort.  Yes, there was the mark identifying the stolen property.  Poor little child of the tropics, swinging in his leafy, native haunts from bough to bough, gripping the branches with paw and tail, he little anticipated that his last swing would be by the neck, like that of a murderer from the black, unsightly gallows!  He had strayed away, carrying with him the cord binding him to his master’s wrist.  In his peregrinations over various roofs, he had examined the cupola, and reaching a paw through an opening where a slat chanced to have been removed, he had abstracted the property of the club.  Whatever money was in the dipper had been spilled hopelessly as marbles in the sea.  Attempting to come down by a spout from the last barn-roof visited, he was entangled in the cord that had caught about a nail in the roof.  Finally, the cord was twisted about his neck and twisted the life out of him.  The thief was holding out the dipper as if asking for more, and showing that the ruling passion was strong in death.  There were many sighs from the tender-hearted, sympathetic boys.  All were ready to pity and forgive, but pity and forgiveness could not bring the little creature back to life.

“Let’s bury him!” said a tearful voice.  It was Tony, who said little generally, but he was now moved to speak in his secret sympathy for this wandering child of the sun.  The organ-grinder was notified, and then a grave was dug for his dead property under the leafiest apple-tree.  Charlie furnished a box, and Wort brought fresh straw from his stable.  The box with its occupant was laid in the grave, and the pitiful face of the monkey was then covered up forever.