UNDER THE APPLE-TREES 



him there; he stirs uneasily; he changes his position; 

 he looks at my motionless figure again, then toward 

 the source of supplies, and is off, leaving me at his 

 threshold. In two minutes he is back again with 

 protruding pockets, and now makes the home run 

 without a pause. He emerges again from his den, 

 washes his face three times, his mouth first, then his 

 nose and cheeks, then is off for another load. I re- 

 turn to my chair and soon he is again on my lap and 

 table, or sitting in the hollow of my hand, loading up 

 as before. The apparition in the chair has no terrors 

 for him. 



I would not say that he is burdened with a con- 

 scious sense of danger; rather is his fear instinctive 

 and unconscious. It is in his blood — born with 

 him and a part of his life. His race has been the 

 prey of various animals and birds for untold ages, 

 and it has survived by reason of an instinctive w^atch- 

 fulness that has been pushed to the highest degree 

 of development. He is on the lookout for danger as 

 constantly as he is on the lookout for food, and he 

 takes no more thought about the one than about the 

 other. His life is keyed to the fear pitch all the time. 

 His heart beats as fast as the ticking of a watch, and 

 all his movements are as abrupt and spasmodic as 

 if they were born of alarm. His behavior is an excel- 

 lent illustration of the unconscious fear that per- 

 vades a large part of the animal kingdom. 



All creatures that are preyed upon by others lead 



15 



