“Here is a present for you,” she said sweetly.
Emily took the box unsuspectingly. Rhoda’s smile would have disarmed any suspicion. For a moment Emily was happily anticipant as she removed the cover. Then with a shriek she flung the box from her, and stood pale and trembling from head to foot. There was a snake in the box—whether dead or alive she did not know and did not care. For any snake Emily had a horror and repulsion she could not overcome. The very sight of one almost paralyzed her.
A chorus of giggles ran around the porch.
“Before I’d be so scared of an old dead snake!” scoffed Black-eyes.
“Can you write poetry about that?” giggled Chestnut-curls.
“I hate you—I hate you!” cried Emily. “You are mean, hateful girls!”
“Calling names isn’t ladylike,” said the Freckled-one. “I thought a Murray would be too grand for that.”
“If you come to school to-morrow, Miss Starr,” said Black-eyes deliberately, “we are going to take that snake and put it around your neck.”
“Let me see you do it!” cried a clear, ringing voice. Into their midst with a bound came the girl with amber eyes and short hair. “Just let me see you do it, Jennie Strang!”
“This isn’t any of your business, Ilse Burnley,” muttered Jennie, sullenly.