Eves Diary | Page 7

she won't have
them. It is the right spirit, I concede it; it attracts me; I feel the
influence of it; if I were with her more I think I should take it up myself.
Well, she had one theory remaining about this colossus: she thought
that if we could tame it and make him friendly we could stand in the
river and use him for a bridge. It turned out that he was already plenty
tame enough--at least as far as she was concerned--so she tried her
theory, but it failed: every time she got him properly placed in the river
and went ashore to cross over him, he came out and followed her
around like a pet mountain. Like the other animals. They all do that.

Tuesday--Wednesday--Thursday--and today: all without seeing him. It
is a long time to be alone; still, it is better to be alone than unwelcome.

FRIDAY--I HAD to have company--I was made for it, I think--so I
made friends with the animals. They are just charming, and they have
the kindest disposition and the politest ways; they never look sour, they
never let you feel that you are intruding, they smile at you and wag
their tail, if they've got one, and they are always ready for a romp or an
excursion or anything you want to propose. I think they are perfect
gentlemen. All these days we have had such good times, and it hasn't
been lonesome for me, ever.
Lonesome! No, I should say not. Why, there's always a swarm of them
around--sometimes as much as four or five acres--you can't count them;
and when you stand on a rock in the midst and look out over the furry
expanse it is so mottled and splashed and gay with color and frisking
sheen and sun-flash, and so rippled with stripes, that you might think it
was a lake, only you know it isn't; and there's storms of sociable birds,
and hurricanes of whirring wings; and when the sun strikes all that
feathery commotion, you have a blazing up of all the colors you can
think of, enough to put your eyes out.
We have made long excursions, and I have seen a great deal of the
world; almost all of it, I think; and so I am the first traveler, and the
only one. When we are on the march, it is an imposing sight--there's
nothing like it anywhere. For comfort I ride a tiger or a leopard,
because it is soft and has a round back that fits me, and because they
are such pretty animals; but for long distance or for scenery I ride the
elephant. He hoists me up with his trunk, but I can get off myself; when
we are ready to camp, he sits and I slide down the back way.
The birds and animals are all friendly to each other, and there are no
disputes about anything. They all talk, and they all talk to me, but it
must be a foreign language, for I cannot make out a word they say; yet
they often understand me when I talk back, particularly the dog and the
elephant. It makes me ashamed. It shows that they are brighter than I
am, for I want to be the principal Experiment myself--and I intend to be,
too.
I have learned a number of things, and am educated, now, but I wasn't
at first. I was ignorant at first. At first it used to vex me because, with

all my watching, I was never smart enough to be around when the
water was running uphill; but now I do not mind it. I have
experimented and experimented until now I know it never does run
uphill, except in the dark. I know it does in the dark, because the pool
never goes dry, which it would, of course, if the water didn't come back
in the night. It is best to prove things by actual experiment; then you
KNOW; whereas if you depend on guessing and supposing and
conjecturing, you never get educated.
Some things you CAN'T find out; but you will never know you can't by
guessing and supposing: no, you have to be patient and go on
experimenting until you find out that you can't find out. And it is
delightful to have it that way, it makes the world so interesting. If there
wasn't anything to find out, it would be dull. Even trying to find out and
not finding out is just as interesting as trying to find out and finding out,
and I don't know but more so. The secret of the water was a treasure
until I GOT it; then the excitement all went away, and I recognized a
sense of loss.
By experiment I