“Now then, what is it?”
“Oh, it’s gone now,” groaned Ned. “I felt it glide off when you struck the match, sir.”
“Leap off, you mean,” said the doctor. “Rats don’t glide.”
“Oh, it wasn’t a rat, sir,” said the boy faintly. “It was a rattler.”
“Nonsense! Not here.”
“Yes, sir; they swarm. Chris and I saw a big one down in the river-bed this afternoon.”
“Pooh!” cried the doctor. “But this is your bed, not the river’s. It is not likely that one would be here. If there were any about, they’d be a deal more likely to favour me by the fire. You’ve been dreaming, my boy.”
“Oh no, sir. It was too horribly real.”
“Real enough, but some little animal—a mouse, more likely,” said the doctor, putting out the second match he had lit most carefully. “Look here, have you boys got matches?”
“Yes, father.”