s a better
climber than Lop-Ear or I. When we played tag we could never catch her
except by accident, while she could catch us at will. She was remarkably
swift in all her movements, and she had a genius for judging distances
that was equalled only by her daring. Excessively timid in all other
matters, she was without fear when it came to climbing or running
through the trees, and Lop-Ear and I were awkward and lumbering and
cowardly in comparison.

She was an orphan. We never saw her with any one, and there was no
telling how long she had lived alone in the world. She must have learned
early in her helpless childhood that safety lay only in flight. She was
very wise and very discreet. It became a sort of game with Lop-Ear
and me to try to find where she lived. It was certain that she had
a tree-shelter somewhere, and not very far away; but trail her as we
would, we could never find it. She was willing enough to join with us
at play in the day-time, but the secret of her abiding-place she guarded
jealously.

CHAPTER XI

It must be remembered that the description I have just given of
the Swift One is not the description that would have been given by
Big-Tooth, my other self of my dreams, my prehistoric ancestor. It is by
the medium of my dreams that I, the modern man, look through the eyes of
Big-Tooth and see.

And so it is with much that I narrate of the events of that far-off
time. There is a duality about my impressions that is too confusing to
inflict upon my readers. I shall merely pause here in my narrative to
indicate this duality, this perplexing mixing of personality. It is I,
the modern, who look back across the centuries and weigh and analyze the
emotions and motives of Big-Tooth, my other self. He did not bother
to weigh and analyze. He was simplicity itself. He just lived events,
without ever pondering why he lived them in his particular and often
erratic way.

As I, my real self, grew older, I entered more and more into the
substance of my dreams. One may dream, and even in the midst of the
dream be aware that he is dreaming, and if the dream be bad, comfort
himself with the thought that it is only a dream. This is a common
experience with all of us. And so it was that I, the modern, often
entered into my dreaming, and in the consequent strange dual personality
was both actor and spectator. And right often have I, the modern, been
perturbed and vexed by the foolishness, illogic, obtuseness,