The Doctor’s Lancet.
There was a peculiar dreamy look in the injured boy’s eyes, as he turned them from his father to Dean and back.
“Here, let me come,” cried the doctor. “Let him sit down on that stone—feel faint, my lad?”
“No–o,” faltered Mark; “only strange and queer. Is it a poisonous snake?”
“I don’t know. I hope not,” said the doctor. “I only had a glimpse of it, and it’s gone. Where did you feel the prick?”
“In this finger. No, no—don’t touch it!”
“Nonsense! Be a man. I am not going to hurt you. Did either of you get a good sight of the snake?”
“I did, sir,” said Buck, “and it must have been a poisonous one.”
“Why must it?” said the doctor sharply.
“Because the niggers run away as soon as they saw it, sir,” said Dan. “Look at them up yonder;” and he pointed to where the two blacks were perched on the top of the wall. “They know, sir.”