After we had had out our laugh,
Lop-Ear and I curved back in
our flight and got breakfast
in the blueberry swamp. It was
the same swamp to which I had
made my first journeys in the
world, years before, accompanied
by my mother. I had seen little
of her in the intervening time.
Usually, when she visited the
horde at the caves, I was away
in the forest. I had once or
twice caught glimpses of the
Chatterer in the open space,
and had had the pleasure of making
faces at him and angering him
from the mouth of my cave. Beyond
such amenities I had left my
family severely alone. I was
not much interested in it, and
anyway I was doing very well
by myself.
After eating our fill of berries,
with two nestfuls of partly hatched
quail-eggs for dessert, Lop-Ear
and I wandered circumspectly
into the woods toward the river.
Here was where stood my old home-tree,
out of which I had been thrown
by the Chatterer. It was still
occupied. There had been increase
in the family. Clinging tight
to my mother was a little baby.
Also, there was a girl, partly
grown, who cautiously regarded
us from one of the lower branches.
She was evidently my sister,
or half-sister, rather.
My mother recognized me, but
she warned me away when I started
to climb into the tree. Lop-Ear,
who was more cautious by far
than I, beat a retreat, nor could
I persuade him to return. Later
in the day, however, my sister
came down to the ground, and
there and in neighboring trees
we romped and played all afternoon.
And then came trouble. She was
my sister, but that did not prevent
her from treating me abominably,
for she had inherited all the
viciousness of the Chatterer.
She turned upon me suddenly,
in a petty rage, and scratched
me, tore my hair, and sank her
sharp little teeth deep into
my forearm. I lost my temper.
I did not injure her, but it
was undoubtedly the soundest
spanking she had received up
to that time.
How she yelled and squalled.
The Chatterer, who had been away
all day and who was only then
returning, heard the noise and
rushed for the spot. My mother
also rushed, but he got there
first. Lop-Ear and I did not
wait his coming. We were off
and away, and the Chatterer gave
us the chase of our lives through
the trees.
After the chase was over, and
Lop-Ear and I had had out our
laugh, we discovered that twilight
was falling. Here was night with
all its terrors upon us, and
to return to the caves was out
of the question. Red-Eye made
that impossible. We took refuge
in a tree that stood apart from
other trees, and high up in a
fork we passed the night. It
was a miserable night. For the
first few hours it rained heavily,
then it turned cold and a chill
wind blew upon us. Soaked through,
with shivering bodies and chattering
teeth, we huddled in each other's
arms. We missed the snug, dry
cave that so quickly warmed with
the heat of our bodies.
Morning found us wretched and
resolved. We would not spend
another such night. Remembering
the tree-shelters of our elders,
we set to work to make one for
ourselves. We built the framework
of a rough nest, and on higher
forks overhead even got in several
ridge-poles for the roof. Then
the sun came out, and under its
benign influence we forgot the
hardships of the night and went
off in search of breakfast. After
that, to show the inconsequentiality
of life in those days, we fell
to playing. It must have taken
us all of a month, working intermittently,
to make our tree-house; and then,
when it was completed, we never
used it again.
But I run ahead of my story.
When we fell to playing, after
breakfast, on the second day
away from the caves, Lop-Ear
led me a chase through the trees
and down to the river. We came
out upon it where a large slough
entered from the blueberry swamp.
The mouth of this slough was
wide, while the slough itself
was practically without a current.
In the dead water, just inside
its mouth, lay a tangled mass
of tree trunks. Some of these,
what of the wear and tear of
freshets and of being stranded
long summers on sand-bars, were
seasoned and dry and without
branches. They floated high in
the water, and bobbed up and
down or rolled over when we put
our weight upon them.
Here and there between the
trunks were water-cracks, and
through them we could see schools
of small fish, like minnows,
darting back and forth. Lop-Ear
and I became fishermen at once.
Lying flat on the logs, keeping
perfectly quiet, waiting till
the minnows came close, we would
make swift passes with our hands.
Our prizes we ate on the spot,
wriggling and moist. We did not
notice the lack of salt.
The mouth of the slough became
our favorite playground. Here
we spent many hours each day,
catching fish and playing on
the logs, and here, one day,
we learned our first lessons
in navigation. The log on which
Lop-Ear was lying got adrift.
He was curled up on his side,
asleep. A light fan of air slowly
drifted the log away from the
shore, and when I noticed his
predicament the distance was
already too great for him to
leap.
At first the episode seemed
merely funny to me. But when
one of the vagrant impulses of
fear, common in that age of perpetual
insecurity, moved within me,
I was struck with my own loneliness.
I was made suddenly aware of
Lop-Ear's remoteness out there
on that alien element a few feet
away. I called loudly to him
a warning cry. He awoke frightened,
and shifted his weight rashly
on the log. It turned over, sousing
him under. Three times again
it soused him under as he tried
to climb out upon it. Then he
succeeded, crouching upon it
and chattering with fear.
I could do nothing. Nor could
he. Swimming was something of
which we knew nothing. We were
already too far removed from
the lower life-forms to have
the instinct for swimming, and
we had not yet become sufficiently
man-like to undertake it as the
working out of a problem. I roamed
disconsolately up and down the
bank, keeping as close to him
in his involuntary travels as
I could, while he wailed and
cried till it was a wonder that
he did not bring down upon us
every hunting animal within a
mile.
The hours passed. The sun climbed
overhead and began its descent
to the west. The light wind died
down and left Lop-Ear on his
log floating around a hundred
feet away. And then, somehow,
I know not how, Lop-Ear made
the great discovery. He began
paddling with his hands. At first
his progress was slow and erratic.
Then he straightened out and
began laboriously to paddle nearer
and nearer. I could not understand.
I sat down and watched and waited
until he gained the shore.
But he had learned something,
which was more than I had done.
Later in the afternoon, he deliberately
launched out from shore on the
log. Still later he persuaded
me to join him, and I, too, learned
the trick of paddling. For the
next several days we could not
tear ourselves away from the
slough. So absorbed were we in
our new game that we almost neglected
to eat. We even roosted in a
nearby tree at night. And we
forgot that Red-Eye existed.
We were always trying new logs,
and we learned that the smaller
the log the faster we could make
it go. Also, we learned that
the smaller the log the more
liable it was to roll over and
give us a ducking. Still another
thing about small logs we learned.
One day we paddled our individual
logs alongside each other. And
then, quite by accident, in the
course of play, we discovered
that when each, with one hand
and foot, held on to the other's
log, the logs were steadied and
did not turn over. Lying side
by side in this position, our
outside hands and feet were left
free for paddling. Our final
discovery was that this arrangement
enabled us to use still smaller
logs and thereby gain greater
speed. And there our discoveries
ended. We had invented the most
primitive catamaran, and we did
not have sense enough to know
it. It never entered our heads
to lash the logs together with
tough vines or stringy roots.
We were content to hold the logs
together with our hands and feet.
It was not until we got over
our first enthusiasm for navigation
and had begun to return to our
tree-shelter to sleep at night,
that we found the Swift One.
I saw her first, gathering young
acorns from the branches of a
large oak near our tree. She
was very timid. At first, she
kept very still; but when she
saw that she was discovered she
dropped to the ground and dashed
wildly away. We caught occasional
glimpses of her from day to day,
and came to look for her when
we travelled back and forth between
our tree and the mouth of the
slough.
And then, one day, she did
not run away. She waited our
coming, and made soft peace-sounds.
We could not get very near, however.
When we seemed to approach too
close, she darted suddenly away
and from a safe distance uttered
the soft sounds again. This continued
for some days. It took a long
while to get acquainted with
her, but finally it was accomplished
and she joined us sometimes in
our play.
I liked her from the first.
She was of most pleasing appearance.
She was very mild. Her eyes were
the mildest I had ever seen.
In this she was quite unlike
the rest of the girls and women
of the Folk, who were born viragos.
She never made harsh, angry cries,
and it seemed to be her nature
to flee away from trouble rather
than to remain and fight.
The mildness I have mentioned
seemed to emanate from her whole
being. Her bodily as well as
facial appearance was the cause
of this. Her eyes were larger
than most of her kind, and they
were not so deep-set, while the
lashes were longer and more regular.
Nor was her nose so thick and
squat. It had quite a bridge,
and the nostrils opened downward.
Her incisors were not large,
nor was her upper lip long and
down-hanging, nor her lower lip
protruding. She was not very
hairy, except on the outsides
of arms and legs and across the
shoulders; and while she was
thin-hipped, her calves were
not twisted and gnarly.
I have often wondered, looking
back upon her from the twentieth
century through the medium of
my dreams, and it has always
occurred to me that possibly
she may have been related to
the Fire People. Her father,
or mother, might well have come
from that higher stock. While
such things were not common,
still they did occur, and I have
seen the proof of them with my
own eyes, even to the extent
of members of the horde turning
renegade and going to live with
the Tree People.
All of which is neither here
nor there. The Swift One was
radically different from any
of the females of the horde,
and I had a liking for her from
the first. Her mildness and gentleness
attracted me. She was never rough,
and she never fought. She always
ran away, and right here may
be noted the significance of
the naming of her. She was a
better climber than Lop-Ear or
I. When we played tag we could
never catch her except by accident,
while she could catch us at will.
She was remarkably swift in all
her movements, and she had a
genius for judging distances
that was equalled only by her
daring. Excessively timid in
all other matters, she was without
fear when it came to climbing
or running through the trees,
and Lop-Ear and I were awkward
and lumbering and cowardly in
comparison.
She was an orphan. We never
saw her with any one, and there
was no telling how long she had
lived alone in the world. She
must have learned early in her
helpless childhood that safety
lay only in flight. She was very
wise and very discreet. It became
a sort of game with Lop-Ear and
me to try to find where she lived.
It was certain that she had a
tree-shelter somewhere, and not
very far away; but trail her
as we would, we could never find
it. She was willing enough to
join with us at play in the day-time,
but the secret of her abiding-place
she guarded jealously.
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