enever a new creature comes along I name it before he has
time to expose himself by an awkward silence. In this way I have saved
him many embarrassments. I have no defect like this. The minute I set
eyes on an animal I know what it is. I don't have to reflect a moment;
the right name comes out instantly, just as if it were an inspiration,
as no doubt it is, for I am sure it wasn't in me half a minute before.
I seem to know just by the shape of the creature and the way it acts
what animal it is.

When the dodo came along he thought it was a wildcat--I saw it in his
eye. But I saved him. And I was careful not to do it in a way that
could hurt his pride. I just spoke up in a quite natural way of
pleasing surprise, and not as if I was dreaming of conveying
information, and said, "Well, I do declare, if there isn't the dodo!" I
explained--without seeming to be explaining--how I know it for a dodo,
and although I thought maybe he was a little piqued that I knew the
creature when he didn't, it was quite evident that he admired me. That
was very agreeable, and I thought of it more than once with
gratification before I slept. How little a thing can make us happy when
we feel that we have earned it!

THURSDAY.--my first sorrow. Yesterday he avoided me and seemed to wish
I would not talk to him. I could not believe it, and thought there was
some mistake, for I loved to be with him, and loved to hear him talk,
and so how could it be that he could feel unkind toward me when I had
not done anything? But at last it seemed true, so I went away and sat
lonely in the place where I first saw him the morning that we were made
and I did not know what he was and was indifferent about him; but now it
was a mournful place, and every little thing spoke of him, and my heart
was very sore. I did not know why very clearly, for it was a new
feeling; I had not experienced it before, and it was all a mystery, and
I could not make it out.

But when night came I could not bear the lonesomeness, and went to the
new shelter which he has built, to ask him what I had done that was
wrong and how I could mend it and get back his kindness again; but he
put me out in the rain, and it was my first sorrow.

End of Project Gutenberg's Eve's Diary, Part 1, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVE'S DIARY, PART 1 ***

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