ared to play, but crouched trembling close to my limb. A second
arrow and a third soared up, missing Broken-Tooth, rustling the leaves
as they passed through, arching in their flight and returning to earth.

The Fire-Man stretched his bow again. He shifted his position, walking
away several steps, then shifted it a second time. The bow-string
twanged, the arrow leaped upward, and Broken-Tooth, uttering a terrible
scream, fell off the branch. I saw him as he went down, turning over
and over, all arms and legs it seemed, the shaft of the arrow projecting
from his chest and appearing and disappearing with each revolution of
his body.

Sheer down, screaming, seventy feet he fell, smashing to the earth with
an audible thud and crunch, his body rebounding slightly and settling
down again. Still he lived, for he moved and squirmed, clawing with his
hands and feet. I remember the Fire-Man running forward with a stone and
hammering him on the head...and then I remember no more.

Always, during my childhood, at this stage of the dream, did I wake up
screaming with fright--to find, often, my mother or nurse, anxious and
startled, by my bedside, passing soothing hands through my hair and
telling me that they were there and that there was nothing to fear.

My next dream, in the order of succession, begins always with the flight
of Lop-Ear and myself through the forest. The Fire-Man and Broken-Tooth
and the tree of the tragedy are gone. Lop-Ear and I, in a cautious
panic, are fleeing through the trees. In my right leg is a burning pain;
and from the flesh, protruding head and shaft from either side, is an
arrow of the Fire-Man. Not only did the pull and strain of it pain me
severely, but it bothered my movements and made it impossible for me to
keep up with Lop-Ear.

At last I gave up, crouching in the secure fork of a tree. Lop-Ear went
right on. I called to him--most plaintively, I remember; and he stopped
and looked back. Then he returned to me, climbing into the fork and
examining the arrow. He tried to pull it out, but one way the flesh
resisted the barbed lead, and the other way it resisted the feathered
shaft. Also, it hurt grievously, and I stopped him.

For some time we crouched there, Lop-Ear nervous and anxious to be gone,
perpetually and apprehensively peering this way and that, and myself
whimpering softly and sobbing. Lop-Ear was plainly in a funk, and
yet his conduct in remaining by me, in spite of his fear, I tak