“They are fighting, I guess,” replied her chum.
“Where’s Hen?”
“She’s in there, too. She didn’t stop eating.”
At that Amy began laughing hysterically. “She can’t eat the snakes, can she?” she shrieked at last. “But maybe they’ll eat her. How many snakes are there, Jess?”
“Do you suppose I stopped to count them? Dozens, maybe. They came pouring out of that dark stairway––”
“Where is the child?” demanded Amy, who had come up upon the porch, and was now peering in through the doorway.
The sounds from inside, like the beating of a flail, continued. Amy craned her head around the door jamb to see.
“Goodness, mercy, child!” she shouted. “Look out what you are doing! You will get bitten!”
The noise of the thrashing stopped. At least, the larger part of the noise. Henrietta came to the door with the stick that Jessie had dropped in her hand.
“I fixed ’em,” she said calmly. “I just hate snakes. I always kill them black ones. They ain’t got no poison. And I shut the door so if there’s any more upstairs they won’t come down. You can come back to dinner.” 79