"That's what!" said Peggy, relapsing into slang in the absorption of the moment. "He won't be a rattlesnake much longer, though. There! now you can look, Lobelia; he's dead. I tell you he's dead, as dead as Julius Cæsar. What are you crying for, child?"
Lobelia came forward, trembling and cringing.
"Oh, Peggy, I knew it was. I didn't say anything, because I thought you wouldn't want me to—"
"Quite right," said Peggy. "Sensible rabbit!"
"And—and I am terribly afraid of snakes—oh, I was sure you would be killed, Peggy!"
"And so you came back to be killed with me? Lobelia, what a foolish girl you are. There, there, don't cry. Why, the snake isn't crying, and he really has been killed."
"Oh, Peggy, if you had been killed, I should have died. I shouldn't have needed any snake to kill me."
"Nonsense!" said Peggy, gruffly. "Lobelia, do stop crying. My goodness gracious me, come along, or we shall have them all back again after us. I'm going to bring him too, and get Colney to dry him for me. He's a beauty! look at him, Lobelia! Not look at him? Why, I tell you he's dead, as dead as—who was he?—the Father of Lies! Come along, now."