“There,” said Morgan, one day, as he gave the soil a final pat with his spade, “that job’s done, and now I’m going to have a bit of a rest. Leaving-off time till the sun gets a bit down.”
“What have you been planting?” I asked.
“Seeds, my lad; flower seeds, as I’ve picked myself. I like to keep raising the useful things, but we may as well have some bright flowers too. Where’s the master?”
“Indoors, writing.”
“Then what do you say to a bit of sport?”
“Another rattlesnake?” I cried.
“No, thank ye, my lad; meddling with rattlesnakes may mean bringing down the Indians, so we’ll let them alone.”
“Nonsense!”
“Well, perhaps it is, my lad.”
“But what have you found?”