“True—true?”
“Hinklas!” cried the woman in a loud and apparently joyful tone—“Hinklas! the mico is true—the pretty pale-faced mico is true, and the haintclitz (the pretty one) will be happy.”
Ho, ho!
Now for the love, the sweet young love
Under the tala tree (Palm, Chamaerops palmetto).
Who would not be like yonder dove—
The wild little dove—
The soft little dove—
Sitting close by his mate in the shade of the grove—
Co-cooing to his mate in the shade of the grove,
With none to hear or see?
“Down, chitta mico!” she exclaimed, once more addressing the rattlesnake; “and you, ocola chitta! (Green snake.) Be quiet both. It is not an enemy. Quiet, or I crush your heads!”
“Good Ewa—”
“Ho! you call me good Ewa. Some day, you may call me bad Ewa. Hear me!” she continued, raising her voice, and speaking with increased earnestness—“hear me, George Randolph! If ever you are bad—false like him, like him, then Haj-Ewa will be your enemy; chitta mico will destroy you. You will, my king of serpents? you will? Ho, ho, ho!”
As she spoke the reptile appeared to comprehend her, for its head was suddenly raised aloft, its bright basilisk eyes gleamed as though emitting sparks of fire—its forked, glittering tongue was protruded from its mouth, and the “skirr-rr” of the rattles could be heard for some moments sounding continuously.
“Quiet! now quiet!” said she, with a motion of her fingers, causing the serpent to resume its attitude of repose. “Not he, chitta! not he, thou king of the crawlers! Quiet, I say!”
“Why do you threaten me, Ewa? You have no cause.”
“Hinklas! I believe it, fair mico, gallant mico; true, I believe it.”