itting erect on his little haunches, an acorn in his
paws, his bushy tail arching over his back like a plume.

Then slowly the man opened his eyes with a dazed expression, at first
a blur of consciousness. Then gradually the recognition of himself,
of his surroundings, of his life, came into them, and that
self-knowledge was unmistakable. There was no doubt about the man
with his twisted limbs and his twisted soul. He lay quite still a
while longer, staring. Charlotte, with her eyes upon him, and the
squirrel with his eyes upon him, never stirred. Charlotte heard her
heart beat, and wished for some way to stifle it, but that she could
not do. It seemed to her that the beating of her heart was like a
drum, as if it could be heard through all the grove. She realized
that she could not hear the sound of passing wheels on the road,
because of this terrible beating of her heart. It seemed inevitable
that the man would hear it. She felt then that she should take her
one little chance, that she should scream on the possibility of some
one passing on the road, and run, but she realized the futility of
it. Before she could move a step the man would be upon her. She felt,
moreover, paralyzed. She remained as perfectly motionless as the tree
against which she leaned, with her eyes full of utmost terror and
horror upon the waking man. He still looked straight ahead, and his
eyes were still retrospective, fixed inward rather than outward. He
still saw only himself and his own concerns.

Then he yawned audibly and spoke. "Damn it all!" he said, in a
curious voice, of rather passive rage. It was the voice of one at
variance with all creation, his hand against every man and every man
against him, and yet the zest of rebellion was not in it. In fact,
the man had been so long at odds with life that a certain
indifference was upon him. He had become sullen. As he lay there he
thrust a hand in his pocket, and again he spoke his oath against all
outside, against all creation. He had thought absently that he might
find a dime for a drink. Now that he had waked, he was thirsty, but
there was none. Then he yawned, stretched out his stiff, twisted
limbs with a sort of muffled groan, rested his weight upon one elbow,
and shambled up as awkwardly as a camel. The girl sat still in the
clutch of her awful fear. She no longer heard her heart beat. She was
casting about in her mind for a weapon. A great impulse of fight was
stirring in her. She fel