And then, as he sat silent,
his eyes clearing, he saw that the little mouse had climbed back to the
edge of the table. It did not eat the food he had placed there for it,
but humped itself up in a tiny ball again, and its tiny shining eyes
looked in his direction.
"You're not hungry," said Jim, and he spoke aloud. "YOU'RE lonely,
too--that's it!"
A strange thrill shot through him at the thought, and he wondered again
if he was mad at the longing that filled him--the desire to reach out and
snuggle the little creature in his hand, and hold it close up to his
bearded face, and TALK TO IT! He laughed, and drew his stool a little
more into the light. The mouse did not run. He edged nearer and nearer,
until his elbows rested on the table, and a curious feeling of pleasure
took the place of his loneliness when he saw that the mouse was looking
at him, and yet seemed unafraid.
"Don't be scairt," he said softly, speaking directly to it. "I won't hurt
you. No, siree, I'd--I'd cut off a hand before I'd do that. I ain't had
any company but you for two months. I ain't seen a human face, or heard a
human voice--nothing--nothing but them shrieks 'n' wails 'n' baby-cryings
out there in the wind. I won't hurt you--" His voice was almost pleading
in its gentleness. And for the tenth time that day he felt, with his
fever, a sickening dizziness in his head. For a moment or two his vision
was blurred, but he could still see the mouse--farther away, it seemed to
him.
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