Saturday morning came with the bluest of skies. Little soft white clouds floated over it like happy ships on a sea; and the wind was playful, too, and the sunshine friendly. The four got off very early and rattled down the mountain side in a manner to take the breath away from anyone who had not perfect confidence in Pa McBirney’s driving.
At last the “Old Green Place” was reached, and ma prepared to get out with the children. But pa objected.
“See here, I don’t think this is a fair deal, ma,” he said. “Me going off all by myself, eating my lunch alone in this tarnation old wagon, and you three picnicking! You come along with me, ma. I’m not fit to do trading by myself. You know you’ve often said that.”
Ma made a face at him, for she knew he had her there, but she really did think it rather dull for pa to drive on alone seven miles to town, and so, after she had made the children promise that they would be careful about this, that and the other thing, and be at the Green Place in the middle of the afternoon, she went on to Lee with pa.
The two children turned their faces down an unknown road, overhung with great chestnuts and lindens, and cut into deep gulleys by the rains. The way looked lonely and beautiful and strange and Azalea felt her heart beating a little faster than usual. She was just going to say to Jim that they’d probably get lost, when something ran swiftly across their path.
“An adder!” cried Jim. “A gray adder! That’s the poisonest snake that lives anywhere here about. Don’t you go fooling with snakes like that, Zalie, whatever you do. Why, once I teased a gray adder till he got so mad he bit himself. And in three minutes he was dead.”
“Honest?”
“Honest! You say you’re sorry for snakes—I like ’em to kill!—but don’t you fool none around an adder.”
“You didn’t try to kill that one.”