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his　foot。　　This　was　why　he　could　not　walk　on　the　flat

of　his　foot。



But　his　appearance　was　no　more　unusual　than　the　manner

of　his　coming；　there　to　my　mother　and　me　as　we　perched

above　the　angry　wild　pigs。　　He　came　through　the　trees；

leaping　from　limb　to　limb　and　from　tree　to　tree；　and　he

came　swiftly。　　I　can　see　him　now；　in　my　wake…a…day

life；　as　I　write　this；　swinging　along　through　the

trees；　a　four…handed；　hairy　creature；　howling　with

rage；　pausing　now　and　again　to　beat　his　chest　with　his

clenched　fist；　leaping　ten…and…fifteen…foot　gaps；

catching　a　branch　with　one　hand　and　swinging　on　across

another　gap　to　catch　with　his　other　hand　and　go　on；

never　hesitating；　never　at　a　loss　as　to　how　to　proceed

on　his　arboreal　way。



And　as　I　watched　him　I　felt　in　my　own　being；　in　my　very

muscles　themselves；　the　surge　and　thrill　of　desire　to

go　leaping　from　bough　to　bough；　and　I　felt　also　the

guarantee　of　the　latent　power　in　that　being　and　in

those　muscles　of　mine。　　And　why　not？　Little　boys　watch

their　fathers　swing　axes　and　fell　trees；　and　feel　in

themselves　that　some　day　they；　too；　will　swing　axes　and

fell　trees。　　And　so　with　me。　　The　life　that　was　in　me

was　constituted　to　do　what　my　father　did；　and　it

whispered　to　me　secretly　and　ambitiously　of　aerial

paths　and　forest　flights。



At　last　my　father　joined　us。　　He　was　extremely　angry。

I　remember　the　out…thrust　of　his　protruding　underlip　as

he　glared　down　at　the　wild　pigs。　　He　snarled　something

like　a　dog；　and　I　remember　that　his　eye…teeth　were

large；　like　fangs；　and　that　they　impressed　me

tremendously。



His　conduct　served　only　the　more　to　infuriate　the　pigs。

He　broke　off　twigs　and　small　branches　and　flung　them

down　upon　our　enemies。　He　even　hung　by　one　hand；

tantalizingly　just　beyond　reach；　and　mocked　them　as

they　gnashed　their　tusks　with　impotent　rage。　　Not

content　with　this；　he　broke　off　a　stout　branch；　and；

holding　on　with　one　hand　and　foot；　jabbed　the

infuriated　beasts　in　the　sides　and　whacked　them　across

their　noses。　Needless　to　state；　my　mother　and　I　enjoyed

the　sport。



But　one　tires　of　all　good　things；　and　in　the　end；　my

father；　chuckling　maliciously　the　while；　led　the　way

across　the　trees。　Now　it　was　that　my　ambitions　ebbed

away；　and　I　became　timid；　holding　tightly　to　my　mother

as　she　climbed　and　swung　through　space。　　I　remember

when　the　branch　broke　with　her　weight。　　She　had　made　a

wide　leap；　and　with　the　snap　of　the　wood　I　was

overwhelmed　with　the　sickening　consciousness　of　falling

through　space；　the　pair　of　us。　　The　forest　and　the

sunshine　on　the　rustling　leaves　vanished　from　my　eyes。

I　had　a　fading　glimpse　of　my　father　abruptly　arresting

his　progress　to　look；　and　then　all　was　blackness。



The　next　moment　I　was　awake；　in　my　sheeted　bed；

sweating；　trembling；　nauseated。　　The　window　was　up；　and

a　cool　air　was　blowing　through　the　room。　　The

night…lamp　was　burning　calmly。　　And　because　of　this　I

take　it　that　the　wild　pigs　did　not　get　us；　that　we

never　fetched　bottom；　else　I　should　not　be　here　now；　a

thousand　centuries　after；　to　remember　the　event。



And　now　put　yourself　in　my　place　for　a　moment。　　Walk

with　me　a　bit　in　my　tender　childhood；　bed　with　me　a

night　and　imagine　yourself　dreaming　such

incomprehensible　horrors。　　Remember　I　was　an

inexperienced　child。　　I　had　never　seen　a　wild　boar　in

my　life。　For　that　matter　I　had　never　seen　a

domesticated　pig。　　The　nearest　approach　to　one　that　I

had　seen　was　breakfast　bacon　sizzling　in　its　fat。　　And

yet　here；　real　as　life；　wild　boars　dashed　through　my

dreams；　and　I；　with　fantastic　parents；　swung　through

the　lofty　tree…spaces。



Do　you　wonder　that　I　was　frightened　and　oppressed　by　my

nightmare…ridden　nights？　　I　was　accursed。　　And；　worst

of　all；　I　was　afraid　to　tell。　　I　do　not　know　why；

except　that　I　had　a　feeling　of　guilt；　though　I　knew　no

better　of　what　I　was　guilty。　　So　it　was；　through　long

years；　that　I　suffered　in　silence；　until　I　came　to

man's　estate　and　learned　the　why　and　wherefore　of　my

dreams。







CHAPTER　IV





There　is　one　puzzling　thing　about　these　prehistoric

memories　of　mine。　　It　is　the　vagueness　of　the　time

element。　　I　lo　not　always　know　the　order　of　events；or

can　I　tell；　between　some　events；　whether　one；　two；　or

four　or　five　years　have　elapsed。　　I　can　only　roughly

tell　the　passage　of　time　by　judging　the　changes　in　the

appearance　and　pursuits　of　my　fellows。



Also；　I　can　apply　the　logic　of　events　to　the　various

happenings。　For　instance；　there　is　no　doubt　whatever

that　my　mother　and　I　were　treed　by　the　wild　pigs　and

fled　and　fell　in　the　days　before　I　made　the

acquaintance　of　Lop…Ear；　who　became　what　I　may　call　my

boyhood　chum。　　And　it　is　just　as　conclusive　that

between　these　two　periods　I　must　have　left　my　mother。



I　have　no　memory　of　my　father　than　the　one　I　have

given。　　Never；　in　the　years　that　followed；　did　he

reappear。　　And　from　my　knowledge　of　the　times；　the　only

explanation　possible　lies　in　that　he　perished　shortly

after　the　adventure　with　the　wild　pigs。　　That　it　must

have　been　an　untimely　end；　there　is　no　discussion。　　He

was　in　full　vigor；　and　only　sudden　and　violent　death

could　have　taken　him　off。　　But　I　know　not　the　manner　of

his　goingwhether　he　was　drowned　in　the　river；　or　was

swallowed　by　a　snake；　or　went　into　the　stomach　of　old

Saber…Tooth；　the　tiger；　is　beyond　my　knowledge。



For　know　that　I　remember　only　the　things　I　saw　myself；

with　my　own　eyes；　in　those　prehistoric　days。　　If　my

mother　knew　my　father's　end；　she　never　told　me。　　For

that　matter　I　doubt　if　she　had　a　vocabulary　adequate　to

convey　such　information。　　Perhaps；　all　told；　the　Folk

in　that　day　had　a　vocabulary　of　thirty　or　forty　sounds。



I　call　them　SOUNDS；　rather　than　WORDS；　because　sounds

they　were　primarily。　　They　had　no　fixed　values；　to　be

altered　by　adjectives　and　adverbs。　　These　latter　were

tools　of　speech　not　yet　invented。　Instead　of　qualifying

nouns　or　verbs　by　the　use　of　adjectives　and　adverbs；　we

qualified　sounds　by　intonation；　by　changes　in　quantity

and　pitch；　by　retarding　and　by　accelerating。　　The

length　of　time　employed　in　the　utterance　of　a

particular　sound　shaded　its　meaning。



We　had　no　conjugation。　　One　judged　the　tense　by　the

context。　　We　talked　only　concrete　things　because　we

thought　only　concrete　things。　　Also；　we　depended

largely　on　pantomime。　　The　simplest　abstraction　was

practically　beyond　our　thinking；　and　when　one　did

happen　to　think　one；　he　was　hard　put　to　communicate　it

to　his　fellows。　　There　were　no　sounds　for　it。　　He　was

pressing　beyond　the　limits　of　his　vocabulary。　　If　he

invented　sounds　for　it；　his　fellows　did　not　understand

the　sounds。　　Then　it　was　that　he　fell　back　on

pantomime；　illustrating　the　thought　wherever　possible

and　at　the　same　time　repeating　the　new　sound　over　and

over　again。



Thus　language　grew。　　By　the　few　sounds　we　possessed　we

were　enabled　to　think　a　short　distance　beyond　those

sounds；　then　came　the　need　for　new　sounds　wherewith　to

express　the　new　thought。　Sometimes；　however；　we　thought

too　long　a　distance　in　advance　of　our　sounds；　managed

to　achieve　abstractions　（dim　ones　I　grant）；　which　we

failed　utterly　to　make　known　to　other　folk。　　After　all；

language　did　not　grow　fast　in　that　day。



Oh；　believe　me；　we　were　amazingly　simple。　　But　we　did

know　a　lot　that　is　not　known　to…day。　　We　could　twitch

our　ears；　prick　them　up　and　flatten　them　down　at　will。

And　we　could　scratch　between　our　shoulders　with　ease。

We　could　throw　stones　with　our　feet。　　I　have　done　it

many　a　time。　　And　for　that　matter；　I　could　keep　my

knees　straight；　bend　forward　from　the　hips；　and　touch；

not　the　tips　of　my　fingers；　but　the　points　of　my

elbows；　to　the　ground。　　And　as　for　bird…nestingwell；

I　only　wish　the　twentieth…century　boy　could　see　us。

But　we　made　no　collections　of　eggs。　　We　ate　them。



I　rememberbut　I　out…run　my　story。　First　let　me　tell

of　Lop…Ear　and　our　friendship。　　Very　early　in　my　life；

I　separated　from　my　mother。　　Possibly　this　was　because；

after　the　death　of　my　father；　she　took　to　herself　a

second　husband。　　I　have　few　recollections　of　him；　and

they　are　not　of　the　best。　　He　was　a　light　fellow。

There　was　no　solidity　to　him。　　He　was　too　voluble。　　His

infernal　chattering　worries　me　even　now　as　I　think　of

it。　　His　mind　was　too　inconsequential　to　permit　him　to

possess　purpose。　　Monkeys　in　their　cages　always　remind

me　of　him。　　He　was　monkeyish。　　That　is　the　best

description　I　can　give　of　him。



He　hated　me　from　the　first。　　And　I　quickly　learned　to

be　afraid　of　him　and　his　malicious　pranks。　　Whenever　he

came　in　sight　I　crept　close　to　my　mother　and　clung　to

her。　　But　I　was　growing　older　all　the　time；　and　it　was

inevitable　that　I　should　from　time　to　time　stray　from

her；　and　stray　farther　and　farther。　　And　these　were　the

opportunities　that　the　Chatterer　waited　for。　　（I　may　as

well　explain　that　we　bore　no　names　in　those　days；　were

not　known　by　any　name。　　For　the　sake　of　convenience　I

have　myself　given　names　to　the　various　Folk　I　was　more

closely　in　contact　with；　and　the　〃Chatterer〃　is　the

most　fitting　description　I　can　find　for　that　precious

stepfather　of　mine。　　As　for　me；　I　have　named　myself

〃Big…Tooth。〃　My　eye…teeth　were　pronouncedly　large。）



But　to　return　to　the　Chatterer。　　He　persistently

terrorized　me。　He　was　always　pinching　me　and　cuffing

me；　and　on　occasion　he　was　not　above　biting　me。　　Often

my　mother　interfered；　and　the　way　she　made　his　fur　fly

was　a　joy　to　see。　　But　the　result　of　all　this　was　a

beautiful　and　unending　family　quarrel；　in　which　I　was

the　bone　of　contention。



No；　my　home…life　was　not　happy。　　I　smile　to　myself　as　I

write　the　phrase。　　Home…life！　Home！　I　had　no　home　in

the　modern　sense　of　the　term。　　My　home　was　an

association；　not　a　habitation。　　I　lived　in　my　mother's

care；　not　in　a　house。　　And　my　mother　lived　anywhere；　so