This afternoon, as Dab was putting the demijohn of milk in the box preparatory to leaving Cherokee, and I was standing in front of him screwing the top on the jar of cream to put in the same box, suddenly he dropped the demijohn and leaped in the air, uttering the most terrific Comanche yells I ever heard. I nearly dropped the jar of cream at the sound; he fled away still yelling.
My mind is fertile in horrors, and I said to myself, "The boy has gone mad!" I was terror struck.
When he finally stopped, some distance away, I called out, "What is the matter, Jonadab?" He just pointed to a spot near where I stood and began to yell again, "Snake run across my foot."
The relief was so great that I looked composedly on the big snake, but called in a tone of unwonted severity, "You must come and kill it." I knew the only thing to prevent Dab from going into a fit was to be severe in my tone, and peremptory.
Most reluctantly and slowly he returned. I cannot imagine why the snake elected to stay in the ivy to meet its fate; it was sluggish, evidently having swallowed something large, either a rat or another snake, for it was very stout. I made Dab find a long strong stick. It required continued urging and encouragement to get Dab to complete the job, but as soon as it was done and he felt himself victor over the thing which had terrified him so, he became puffed up with pride and courage.
September 30.
The storm is over, and all nature is smiling. Oh, the beauty of the sunshine falling on the dark green pines and the ecstasy of the song of the mocking-bird, who is perched on a tall pine just east of the piazza, splitting his little throat, trying to give vent to his joy and thanksgiving to the Great Father! If one could only bottle up a little of this sunshine and glory and ecstasy to bring out on some gray morning when one's blessings seem too far away to be remembered!
I am just writing a line while Dab is having his breakfast and putting Ruth in the buckboard before we start for Cherokee to see the damage done by the winds and the deluge of rain which fell for twenty-four hours. The cotton had opened more fully Saturday than it yet had done, but a slight drizzle prevented its being picked. I fear the hay which was stacked will all have to be taken down.
8 P.M.—Spent the day at Cherokee fighting with incompetency and unwillingness.
The loose, irregular stacks of hay were, of course, wet to the heart, and I had them taken down entirely, much to Green's dismay. He thought it purely folly and fussiness, and I had to stand by and see it done, lending a helping hand now and then, to get it done at all.