was something in his eyes that
shimmered and glistened in the dull light. And then, as he sat silent,
his eyes clearing, he saw that the little mouse had climbed back to the
edge of the table. It did not eat the food he had placed there for it,
but humped itself up in a tiny ball again, and its tiny shining eyes
looked in his direction.

"You're not hungry," said Jim, and he spoke aloud. "YOU'RE lonely,
too--that's it!"

A strange thrill shot through him at the thought, and he wondered again
if he was mad at the longing that filled him--the desire to reach out
and snuggle the little creature in his hand, and hold it close up to
his bearded face, and TALK TO IT! He laughed, and drew his stool a
little more into the light. The mouse did not run. He edged nearer and
nearer, until his elbows rested on the table, and a curious feeling of
pleasure took the place of his loneliness when he saw that the mouse
was looking at him, and yet seemed unafraid.

"Don't be scairt," he said softly, speaking directly to it. "I won't
hurt you. No, siree, I'd--I'd cut off a hand before I'd do that. I
ain't had any company but you for two months. I ain't seen a human
face, or heard a human voice--nothing--nothing but them shrieks 'n'
wails 'n' baby-cryings out there in the wind. I won't hurt you--" His
voice was almost pleading in its gentleness. And for the tenth time
that day he felt, with his fever, a sickening dizziness in his head.
For a moment or two his vision was blurred, but he could still see the
mouse--farther away, it seemed to him.

"I don't s'pose you've killed anyone--or anything," he said, and his
voice seemed thick and distant to him. "Mice don't kill, do they? They
live on--cheese. But I have--I've killed. I killed a man. That's why
I'm here."

His dizziness almost overcame him, and he leaned heavily against the
table. Still the little mouse did not move. Still he could see it
through the strange gauze veil before his eyes.

"I killed--a man," he repeated, and now he was wondering why the mouse
did not say something at that remarkable confession. "I killed him, old
man, an' you'd have done the same if you'd been in my place. I didn't
mean to. I struck too hard. But I found 'im in my cabin, an' SHE was
fighting--fighting him until her face was scratched an' her clothes
torn,--God bless her dear heart!--fighting him to the last breath, an'
I come just in time! He didn't think I'd be back for a day--a
black-hearted dev