Myself. What do I mean!—why, that my father is an officer-man at the barracks yonder, keeping guard over the French prisoners.
Man. Oh! then that sap [52] is not your father?
Myself. What, the snake? Why, no! Did you think he was?
Man. To be sure we did. Didn’t you tell me so?
Myself. Why, yes; but who would have thought you would have believed it? It is a tame one. I hunt vipers, and tame them.
Man. O—h!
“O—h!” grunted the woman, “that’s it, is it?”
The man and woman, who during this conversation had resumed their former positions within the tent, looked at each other with a queer look of surprise, as if somewhat disconcerted at what they now heard. They then entered into discourse with each other in the same strange tongue which had already puzzled me. At length the man looked me in the face, and said, somewhat
hesitatingly, “So you are not one of them there after all?”
Myself. One of them there? I don’t know what you mean.