“What is it?” I cried, excitedly.
“Enemy. Get yourself a good stout stick.”
“Rake-handle do?”
“Yes, capital.”
I ran to the tool-shed and came back directly, panting.
“Now,” I said, “what enemy is it—an alligator?”
“No. You said you didn’t believe there were any snakes here. I’ve got one to show you now.”
“Yes; but where?”
“Never you mind where. All you’ve got to do is to creep after me silent like; and when you see me pin him down with this fork, you can kill him.”
“But what a cowardly way,” I cried; “it isn’t fair.”