I DID not think there could be anything left in that garden which we
had not seen. But the Doctor took me by the arm and started off down a
little narrow path and after many windings and twistings and turnings
we found ourselves before a small door in a high stone wall. The Doctor
pushed it open.
Inside was still another garden. I had expected to find cages with
animals inside them. But there were none to be seen. Instead there were
little stone houses here and there all over the garden; and each house
had a window and a door. As we walked in, many of these doors opened
and animals came running out to us evidently expecting food.
“Haven’t the doors any locks on them?” I asked the Doctor.
“Oh yes,” he said, “every door has a lock. But in my zoo the doors open
from the inside, not from the out. The locks are only there so the
animals can go and shut themselves _in_ any time they want to get away
from the annoyance of other animals or from people who might come here.
Every animal in this zoo stays here because he likes it, not because
he is made to.”
“They all look very happy and clean,” I said. “Would you mind telling
me the names of some of them?”
“Certainly. Well now: that funny-looking thing with plates on his back,
nosing under the brick over there, is a South American armadillo. The
little chap talking to him is a Canadian woodchuck. They both live in
those holes you see at the foot of the wall. The two little beasts
doing antics in the pond are a pair of Russian minks—and that reminds
me: I must go and get them some herrings from the town before noon—it
is early-closing to-day. That animal just stepping out of his house is
an antelope, one of the smaller South African kinds. Now let us move to
the other side of those bushes there and I will show you some more.”
“Are those deer over there?” I asked.
“_Deer!_” said the Doctor. “Where do you mean?”
“Over there,” I said, pointing—“nibbling the grass border of the bed.
There are two of them.”
“Oh, that,” said the Doctor with a smile. “That isn’t two animals:
that’s one animal with two heads—the only two-headed animal in the
world. It’s called the ‘pushmi-pullyu.’ I brought him from Africa. He’s
very tame—acts as a kind of night-watchman for my zoo. He only sleeps
with one head at a time, you see—very handy—the other head stays awake
all night.”
“Have you any lions or tigers?” I asked as we moved on.
“No,” said the Doctor. “It wouldn’t be possible to keep them here—and
I wouldn’t keep them even if I could. If I had my way, Stubbins, there
wouldn’t be a single lion or tiger in captivity anywhere in the world.
They never take to it. They’re never happy. They never settle down.
They are always thinking of the big countries they have left behind.
You can see it in their eyes, dreaming—dreaming always of the great
open spaces where they were born; dreaming of the deep, dark jungles
where their mothers first taught them how to scent and track the deer.
And what are they given in exchange for all this?” asked the Doctor,
stopping in his walk and growing all red and angry—“What are they given
in exchange for the glory of an African sunrise, for the twilight
breeze whispering through the palms, for the green shade of the matted,
tangled vines, for the cool, big-starred nights of the desert, for the
patter of the waterfall after a hard day’s hunt? What, I ask you, are
they given in exchange for _these_? Why, a bare cage with iron bars; an
ugly piece of dead meat thrust in to them once a day; and a crowd of
fools to come and stare at them with open mouths!—No, Stubbins. Lions
and tigers, the Big Hunters, should never, never be seen in zoos.”
The Doctor seemed to have grown terribly serious—almost sad. But
suddenly his manner changed again and he took me by the arm with his
same old cheerful smile.
“But we haven’t seen the butterfly-houses yet—nor the aquariums. Come
along. I am very proud of my butterfly-houses.”
Off we went again and came presently into a hedged enclosure. Here I
saw several big huts made of fine wire netting, like cages. Inside the
netting all sorts of beautiful flowers were growing in the sun, with
butterflies skimming over them. The Doctor pointed to the end of one of
the huts where little boxes with holes in them stood in a row.
“Those are the hatching-boxes,” said he. “There I put the different
kinds of caterpillars. And as soon as they turn into butterflies and
moths they come out into these flower-gardens to feed.”
“Do butterflies have a language?” I asked.
“Oh I fancy they have,” said the Doctor—“and the beetles too. But so
far I haven’t succeeded in learning much about insect languages. I have
been too busy lately trying to master the shellfish-talk. I mean to
take it up though.”
At that moment Polynesia joined us and said, “Doctor, there are two
guinea-pigs at the back door. They say they have run away from the boy
who kept them because they didn’t get the right stuff to eat. They want
to know if you will take them in.”
“All right,” said the Doctor. “Show them the way to the zoo. Give them
the house on the left, near the gate—the one the black fox had. Tell
them what the rules are and give them a square meal—Now, Stubbins, we
will go on to the aquariums. And first of all I must show you my big,
glass, sea-water tank where I keep the shellfish.”
_THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER_