“Come, come, I’m busy. We’re going for a fresh excursion to-day. Now then, Wriggs, what is it?”
“It’s a little squirmy wormy thing as he ketched, sir, just as it come outer its hole to curl up in the sunshine. Pull it out, Billy. He’s got it in his pocket, sir.”
Wriggs slowly thrust in his hand and drew out a little thin snake, which moved slightly as he laid it on the table.
“He says it’s a wurm, sir,” put in Smith, “I says it’s a young come-structor.”
“What’s that?” cried Oliver in a startled way. “Nonsense, it is full grown.”
“Couldn’t ha’ took long growing to that size, sir,” said Smith, grinning, as he held the bird he had shot behind him.
“But, my good fellows, don’t you know that this is a very dangerous viper?”
“What, that?” said Wriggs contemptuously, “there ain’t nothin’ on him.”
“There isn’t much of a wasp,” said Oliver, “but his sting is poisonous enough.”
“That’s true, sir, specially it you gets it near yer eye. But you don’t mean to say as that little chap’s got a sting in his tail?”