“No, uncle,” I answered; “I don't know what worm it is.”
“Ah,” he answered, with a sigh, “if you do not take the more care, little one, you will some day learn, not what the worm is called, but what it is! The worm that lives there, is the worm that never dies.”
I gave a shriek; I had never heard of the horrible creature before—so it seemed in my dream. To think of its being so near us, and never dying, was too terrible.
“Don't be frightened, little one,” he said, pressing me closer to his bosom. “Death and I killed it. Come with me to the other side, and you will see it lying there, stiff and stark.”
“But, uncle,” I said, “how can it be dead—how can you have killed it, if it never dies?”
“Ah, that is the mystery!” he returned.
“But come and see. It was a terrible fight. I never had such a fight—or dear old Death either. But she's dead now! It was worth living for, to make away with such a monster!”
We rode round the pool, cautiously because of the crumbling banks, to see the worm lie dead. On and on we rode. I began to think we must have ridden many times round the hole.
“I wonder where it can be, uncle!” I said at length.
“We shall come to it very soon,” he answered.