Then that snake went raving mad, lost all control of himself,
and rolled about recklessly. Philip sat up in bed, and a cold sweat
began to trickle down his face, and his hair stood on end. He
whispered to himself as if afraid the snake might hear him. "The
Lord preserve us, that's no mouse; it's a snake right under me. What
shall I do?"
The first thing to do was to strike a light; the matches and candle
were on a box at his bedside, and he slowly put out his hand to reach
them, expecting every moment to feel the fangs in his wrist. But he
found the match-box, struck a light, carefully examined the floor as
far as he could see it, jumped out of bed at one bound, and took
refuge in the other room. There he looked in every corner, and along
every rafter for the other snake, for he knew that at this season
snakes are often found in pairs, but he could not see the mate of the
one he had left in bed.
There was no sleep for Philip that night, and, by the light of the
candle, he sat waiting for the coming day, and planning dire
vengeance. At sunrise he examined closely every hole, and crevice,
and corner, and crack in both rooms, floor and floor, slabs,
rafters, and shingles. He said, at last: "I think there is only
one snake, and he is in the bed."
Then he went outside, and cut a stick about five feet long, one end
of which he pointed with his knife.
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