was not so bad as it looked, that I had left it flat and safe for his
feet, and he could walk it easily. But he was afraid to try. Strange so
small an animal should be capable of such big, wise fears. I called
again and again in a reassuring tone to come on and fear nothing; that
he could come if he would only try. He would hush for a moment, look
down again at the bridge, and shout his unshakable conviction that he
could never, never come that way; then lie back in despair, as if
howling, "O-o-oh! what a place! No-o-o, I can never go-o-o down there!"
His natural composure and courage had vanished utterly in a tumultuous
storm of fear. Had the danger been less, his distress would have seemed
ridiculous. But in this dismal, merciless abyss lay the shadow of
death, and his heartrending cries might well have called Heaven to his
help. Perhaps they did. So hidden before, he was now transparent, and
one could see the workings of his heart and mind like the movements of a
clock out of its case. His voice and gestures, hopes and fears, were so
perfectly human that none could mistake them; while he seemed to
understand every word of mine. I was troubled at the thought of having
to leave him out all night, and of the danger of not finding him in the
morning. It seemed impossible to get him to venture. To compel him to
try through fear of being abandoned, I started off as if leaving him to
his fate, and disappeared back of a hummock; but this did no good; he
only lay down and moaned in utter hopeless misery. So, after hiding a
few minutes, I went back to the brink of the crevasse and in a severe
tone of voice shouted across to him that now I must certainly leave him,
I could wait no longer, and that, if he would not come, all I could
promise was that I would return to seek him next day. I warned him that
if he went back to the woods the wolves would kill him, and finished by
urging him once more by words and gestures to come on, come on.

He knew very well what I meant, and at last, with the courage of