closer to the warm side of his small prison.

There was a curious something inside this warm part of his prison,
which kept up a continuous, methodical beating, sometimes faster and
sometimes slower, but never stopping.

Keesa did not think much about it then. His tiny, flexible, little
mouth was seeking instinctively for something to satisfy his hunger,
and, having found it, he troubled himself no further about the little,
throbbing sound that never stopped. He was too young then to know that
it was the beating of his mother's heart; but as he grew older he
learned to regard it as a very barometer for danger signals. He knew
that whenever it began to beat quicker than usual his mother was
scenting danger; and that when it throbbed very, very quickly the
danger had come, and was causing his mother great anxiety on his
account.

All this he learned as he grew larger, but at this time he was only a
few days' old; a tiny, soft, helpless thing, only about an inch and a
half in length; and all he could do was just stay quietly in his
mother's pouch--where she had carefully put him as soon as he was
born--rest against her heart, and drink as much as he could.

He stayed in this nice, warm place for several months, and his weight
increased so gradually that his mother did not notice it.

After a time, however, he began to find pouch-life rather monotonous,
and so, one day, he poked his funny, little head out of the pouch and
had his first peep at the world.