“Shall we relieve guard, father?” said Rifle.
“No, but you may carry a jug of tea to the outposts,” was the reply; and after this had been well-sweetened by Aunt Georgie, the boy went off to his cousin Tim, not because he was the elder, but on account of his being a visitor in their family, though one of very old standing.
“Well,” he cried, as he approached Tim, who was gazing intently at a patch of low scrubby trees a short distance off; “seen the enemy?”
“Yes,” said the boy, in a low earnest whisper. “I was just going to give warning when I saw you comma.”
Rifle nearly dropped the jug, and his heart beat heavily.
“I say, you don’t mean it?” he whispered.
“Yes, I do. First of all I heard something rustle close by me, and I saw the grass move, and there was a snake.”
“How big?” cried Rifle, excitedly; “twenty feet?”
“No. Not eight, but it looked thick, and I watched it, meaning to shoot if it showed fight, but it went away as hard as ever it could go.”
“A snake—eight feet long!” cried Rifle, breathlessly. “I say, we are abroad now, Tim. Why didn’t you shoot it?”