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 watch- 
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 
