But poor Stickeen, the wee, hairy, sleekit beastie, think of him! When I
had decided to dare the bridge, and while I was on my knees chipping a
hollow on the rounded brow above it, he came behind me, pushed his head
past my shoulder, looked down and across, scanned the sliver and its
approaches with his mysterious eyes, then looked me in the face with a
startled air of surprise and concern, and began to mutter and whine;
saying as plainly as if speaking with words, "Surely, you are not going
into that awful place." This was the first time I had seen him gaze
deliberately into a crevasse, or into my face with an eager, speaking,
troubled look. That he should have recognized and appreciated the danger
at the first glance showed wonderful sagacity. Never before had the
daring midget seemed to know that ice was slippery or that there was any
such thing as danger anywhere. His looks and tones of voice when he
began to complain and speak his fears were so human that I unconsciously
talked to him in sympathy as I would to a frightened boy, and in trying
to calm his fears perhaps in some measure moderated my own.
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