"Well, the mouse sees it. She realizes at once that you aren't dead,
after all--in fact, that you're a dangerous deceiver. She wisks
indignantly back into her hole. Somebody else sees her alarm, and
follows her example, and in two seconds it's gone all about the place
that you're not a stump or a stone or a harmless dead thing waiting to
be nibbled at, but a terrible enemy lying in wait for them all. So you
see how important it is to keep still, with the real stillness of dead
things."

The Child winked his eyes rapidly. "But I can't keep from _winking_,
Uncle Andy," he protested. "I'll promise not to wiggle my fingers or
wrinkle my nose. But if I don't wink my eyes sometimes they'll begin
to smart and get full of tears, and then I won't be able to see
anything--and then all the keeping still will be just wasted."

"Of course, you won't be able to keep from winking," agreed Uncle Andy.
"And, of course, you won't be able to keep from _breathing_. But you
mustn't make a noise about either process."

"How can I make a noise winking?" demanded the Child in a voice of
eager surprise. If such a thing were possible he wanted to learn how
at once.

"Oh, nonsense!" returned Uncle Andy. "Now, listen to me! We're nearly
there, and I don't want to have to do any more talking, because the
quieter we are now the sooner the wild folk will get over their first
suspiciousness. Now, after we once get fixed, you won't move a muscle,
not even if two or three mosquitoes alight on you at once and begin to
help themselves?"