Minerva's Manoeuvres: The Cheerful Facts of a "Return to Nature"

by Charles Battell Loomis

I took the mop from Tom, and watching my chance, I brought it down on the snake in such a way as to pin it, wriggling. Then I picked it up by the neck.

“Oh, Lawdy!” cried Minerva, and stepping backward trod on the tail of Miss Pussy who happened to be coming into the kitchen.

Miss Pussy emitted a yell that Minerva firmly believed to come from the mouth of the snake, and clapping both her hands to her ears she rushed through the dining room and met Ethel coming in.

Ethel and she met on their foreheads, and Minerva was not hurt at all. Ethel, however, was hard hit, and, infected with Minerva’s panic, she turned and ran through the sitting room into the arms of Madge, who had come to see what was happening.

Madge was almost bowled over, but managed to withstand the shock, and brought the chain of concussions to an end.

I am perhaps a crank on the subject of snakes, but I do object to the senseless panic that seizes on some people when they see one. Now, if it were a mouse, it would be different. A mouse has cluttering little feet and a method of approach that reminds one of happenings in a previous state of existence, and I confess that a mouse in a room will spoil my peace of mind, but a snake is generally good to look upon, and it is graceful beyond measure, and it is nearly always harmless and perfectly willing to leave you most of the world for your inheritance.

So I kept hold of the snake, and after Ethel had assured me that she was not seriously hurt by the impact of Minerva’s splendidly built skull, I told her that I wanted to give Minerva a little lesson in natural history.

There is one thing about Minerva. She is a reasonable being. Her fear of cows vanished after we had assured her that cows were for the most part friendly, and as there were no rattle-snakes in the vicinity, I knew I was safe in calming her fears in regard to the snake. So I asked her and the rest to come out of doors and I would show her what a perfectly innocuous thing our little green friend was.

“Nearly everything we meet out doors, Minerva,” said I, “is disposed to leave us alone if we will leave it alone. This little green snake, that looks as if it were fresh from Ireland, is only anxious now to get away from me and rejoin its little ones. If you kept the kitchen full of snakes there would never be any flies there, because snakes love flies. Come and stroke him. I give you my word he will neither sting nor bite.”

Minerva came up with confidence, and amid shrieks from all the women she patted the little green head, and the little red tongue came out and spelled a message of love to her.