"No-o!" she said hastily. "I will do everything you wish."
"I'll hang your hammock for you," he said. "Always look in your shoes for scorpions and spiders before you put them on. Never step over a fallen log before you first look on the other side. Rattlers lie there. Never go near a swamp without looking for moccasins.
"Don't let the direct sunlight fall on your bare head; don't eat fruit for a week; don't ever go to sleep unless you have a blanket on. You won't do any of these things, will you?" he inquired anxiously, almost tenderly.
"I promise. And I never dreamed that there was anything to apprehend except alligators!" she said, tightening her arm around his own.[303]
"Alligators won't bother you—unless you run across a big one in the woods. Then keep clear of him."
"I will!" she said earnestly.
"And don't sit about on old logs or lean against trees."
"Why? Lizards?"
"Oh, they're not harmful. But wood-ticks might give you a miserable week or two."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear," she murmured, "I am so glad you came here!" And quite innocently she pressed his arm. She did it because she was grateful. She had a very direct way with her.[304]