“But he’s shut up in that attic, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I told you so. Got another of those whim-whams in his head, and making a litter of some kind—skinning snakes or something that he’s caught in the woods.”
“Ugh!” ejaculated cook. “If there’s anything I can’t abear it’s them nasty scrawmy things. Did you tell him his dinner was ready?”
“Yes, and he nearly snapped my head off.”
“What does he want to be skinning snakes for?” said the cook.
“Oh, I don’t know—horrid things! He’s got about half a dozen up there as he did last year; peels all the skins off, same as you do with the eels, and then turns them inside out again, fills them full of sand, and then twists them up and leaves them to dry.”
“And what then?” said cook.
“Pours all the sand out again.”
“But, I say, has he got them up there alive before he skins them?”
“I don’t know as he has got any at all,” said Bella shortly.