If the thing in the grass, instead of a thorn, happened to be a snake, and you heard it rustle, then the warning message would come through your ears to the brain, and you would jump just the same; though, as it is not so easy to tell by a hearing message exactly where the sound is coming from, you might possibly jump in the wrong direction and land on top of the danger.
This is the way in which you see, hear, and form ideas of things. Your eye telegraphs to the brain the colors; your ear, the sounds; and your nose, the smells of the particular object; and then your brain puts these all together and compares them with its records of things that it has seen before, which looked, or sounded, or smelt like that, and decides what it is; and you say you see an apple, or you hear a rooster crow, or you smell pies baking. Remember that, strange as it may seem, you don't see an orange, for instance, but only a circular patch of yellowness, which, when you had seen it before, and felt of it with your hand, you found to be associated with a feeling of roundness and solidness; and when you lifted it toward your nose, with the well-known smell of orange-peel; so you called it an orange. If the yellow patch were hard, instead of elastic, to the touch, and didn't have any aromatic smell when you brought it up to your nose, you would probably say it was a gourd, or an apple, or perhaps a yellow croquet ball. This is the way in which, we say, our senses may "deceive" us, and is one of the reasons why three different people who have seen something happen will often differ so much in their accounts of it.
It is not so much that our senses deceive us, but that we draw the wrong conclusions from the sights, sounds, and smells that they report to our brains, usually from being in too great a hurry and not looking carefully enough, or not waiting to check up what we see by touching, hearing, or tasting the thing that we look at.
This message-and-answer system runs all through our body. For instance, if we run fast, then the muscle cells in our legs burn up a good deal of sugar-fuel, and throw the waste gas, or smoke, into the blood. This is pumped by the heart all over the body, in a few seconds. When this carbon dioxid reaches the breathing centre in the medulla, it stirs it up to send promptly a message to the lungs to breathe faster and deeper, while, at the same time, it calls upon the circulation centre close to it, to stir up the heart and make it beat harder and faster, so as to give the muscles more blood to work with. If some poisonous or very irritating food is swallowed, as soon as it begins to hurt the cells lining the stomach, these promptly telegraph to the vomiting centre in the brain, we begin to feel "sick at the stomach," the brain sends the necessary directions to the great muscles of the abdomen and the diaphragm, they squeeze down upon the stomach, and its contents are promptly pumped back up the gullet and out through the mouth, thus throwing up the poisons.
And so on all over the body—every tiniest region or organ in the body, every square inch of the skin, has its special wire connecting it with the great telephone exchange, enabling it to report danger, and to call for help or assistance the moment it needs it.