Without thought or consideration—without a cry of alarm to those above, he struck at the threatening foe with his whip; and as the resentful snake darted at him, jumped nimbly aside, and struck and struck again; and as the angry snake writhed and twisted, and again and again darted its frightful head at him with distended jaws, he whipped and whipped away as though a top and not a formidable reptile had been before him.
Cook, out of patience, called “Jabez Clegg!” more than once, in anything but satisfactory tones; and then, patience exhausted, came to the top of the dairy-stairs. Then she heard Jabez, as if addressing some one, say: “Oh, you would, would you?” and the commotion having drawn her so far down the steps that she could peer into the cellar and see what was going on, she set up a prolonged scream. This was just as Jabez, shifting the position of his whip, brought the butt-end down on the head of the snake with all the force of his stout young arm, and his exhausted foe dropped, literally whipped to death.
The woman’s screams brought not only the governor and the school-master, but Dr. Stone, the librarian, to the spot. And there stood Jabez, all his prowess gone, with his back towards them, his head down on his arms, which rested on the stone slab, sobbing violently for the very life he had just destroyed.
“Oh, he’s bin bitten—he’s been bitten! The vemonous thing’s bitten the lad! He’ll die after it!” cried the cook in an ecstacy of terror.
“Stand aside, Nancy,” said Dr. Stone; “that snake is not venomous. If I mistake not, the brave boy’s heart is wounded, not his skin.”
And, coming down, the kind, discerning librarian lifted the snake with the one hand, and took hold of Jabez with the other, simply saying to him—
“Come into the governor’s room, Jabez, and tell us all about it.”
And Jabez, drying his red eyes on the cuff of his coat, was ushered before the Doctor up the stairs, and into the governor’s room, where breakfast was laid for the three gentlemen. There he briefly told how he had found the snake drinking the milk; and having intercepted the reptile’s retreat, had been obliged, in self-defence, to fight with it until he had whipped it to death—a consummation as unlooked for as regreted.
He had not, as at first surmised, escaped unwounded in the contest; but, as Dr. Stone had said, and the surgeon who dressed the bites confirmed, the terrible-looking reptile was but the common ringed-snake, which takes freely to the water; and its bite was harmless. From the dais in the refectory both snake and whip were exhibited to the boys after breakfast.
“My lads,” said the governor, “I daresay you will all be glad to know that the thief who stole the milk has been taken.”