“No; don’t do that.”
“Plenty budgery. Big white Mary.”
“He says it’s beautiful, aunt, and he brought it as a present for you. Shall he put it in the kitchen?”
“What?” cried Aunt Georgie; “make the horrid fellow take it, and bury it somewhere. I was never so frightened in my life.”
All this was explained to Shanter, who turned sulky, and looked offended, marching off with his prize into the scrub, his whereabouts being soon after detected by a curling film of grey smoke.
“Here, come on, boys,” cried Tim. “Shanter’s having a feed of roast snake.”
“Let’s go and see,” cried Norman, and they ran to the spot where the fire was burning, to find that Tim was quite correct. Shanter had made a good fire, had skinned his snake, and was roasting it in the embers, from which it sent forth a hissing sound not unlike its natural utterance, but now in company with a pleasantly savoury odour.
His back was toward them, and as they approached he looked round sourly, but his black face relaxed, and he grinned good-humouredly again, as he pointed to the cooking going on.
“Plenty budgery,” he cried. “Come eat lot ’long Shanter.”
But the boys said “No.” The grubs were tempting, but the carpet-snake was not; so Shanter had it all to himself, eating till Rifle laughed, and said that he must be like india-rubber, else he could never have held so much.