"They are the books on snakes and such things, ma'm, which I have read about this da—this island."
"Oh!" said Cynthia. "I'll tell her." She turned to Lacelle and began to talk with lips and fingers, and then turned again to us.
"She says some are and some are not. I'm sure I hope these are not."
"If the snakes are poisonous, those ladies are on the wrong side of the fence," said the Smith.
The Bo's'n now came toward us. He had a small parcel in his hand. It consisted of some birds' eggs, which he had boiled hard and had kept in a cool place within the passage, and some fruit. He made motions as if to throw it toward Cynthia.
"Don't!" said she. "Let me send you my bag."
She stooped and picked from the ground a tough vine—behucca they call it in Santo Domingo; liano, in South America. She tied one end through the handles and prepared to swing the bag down and across the chasm.
"Hold fast to the other end!" shouted I, for an idea had struck me. So soon as I had received the end of the vine I asked:
"How much more have you of the vine?"
"Oh, yards and yards."