might be to
me, the little box was as big as all outdoors to him. It was the bumping
about he'd endured; I hadn't been very thoughtful of him.

He was reviving now, and raised himself on one arm. I pushed myself off
the bed, and stepped quickly to my table to procure something with which
I could control him. Not that he could get away, but he was so tiny I
thought I might lose sight of him.

Pen, pencil, paper, stamps, scissors, clips--none of them were what I
wanted. I had nothing definite in mind, but then remembered my stamp
outfit and rushed to secure it. Evidently college work had cramped my
style along the collecting line, for the tweezers and magnifier appeared
with a mild coating of dust. But they were what I needed, and I blew on
them and returned to the bed.

The little man had made his way half an inch or so from his former
prison; was crawling over what I suppose were, to him, great uneven
blocks of red and green and black moss.

He crossed from a red into a black patch as I watched his movements
through the glass, and I could see him more plainly against the darker
background. He stopped and picked at the substance of his strange
surroundings, then straightened to examine a tuft of the cloth. The
magnifier enlarged him to a seeming half inch or so, and I could see
better, now, this strange tiny creature.

It _was_ a metal cap he wore, and it did have protruding knobs--two of
them--slanting at 45 degree angles from his temples like horns. I
wondered at their use, but it was impossible for me to imagine. Perhaps
they covered some actual growth; he might have had real horns for all I
knew. Nothing would have been too strange to expect.

His clothing showed up as a simple, white, one piece garment, like a
shirt and gym shorts. The shorts ended at the knee, and from there down
he was bare except for a covering on his feet which appeared more like
gloves than shoes. Whatever he wore to protect his feet, it allowed free
movement of his toes.

It struck me that this little man's native habitat must have been very
warm. His attire suggested this. For a moment I considered plugging in
my small heater; my room certainly had no tropical or sub-tropical
temperature at that time of the morning--and how was I to know whether
he shivered when he felt chill. Maybe he blew his horns. Anyway, I
figured a living Eighth Wonder would be more valuable than a dead one;
and I didn't think he could be stuffed. But somehow I