“Dogs and sons of dogs, stand not here like frightened curs! distribute yourselves about the grounds; search every corner; examine every hole and bush.” But still none moved until “my lady,” coming forward and stamping her foot upon the earth, cried angrily, “Get ye gone; do as you are bid. The man who kills the reptile shall have the weight of its head in gold.”
At this the poltroons scampered off, all but Prabu and the hunchback, who, addressing the lady in piteous, whining tones, cried, “Not kill, dear lady; not kill. You would not deprive a wretched old man of his daily rice.”
“Get you gone, wretch! join in the search; and, mark me, heartily shall you be punished if, through your carelessness, harm happens to any one in this house.”
“Come, Martin,” said I, “let us look for a stick or a fork, and help to find the reptile.”
“Not so, boys; it is needless that you should incur danger. Get you back into the house.”
“True, aunt,” said Martin; “but let us to our father’s room.”
“No, no!” exclaimed “my lady,” with a start of alarm; but, recalling her words quickly, she continued, “Yes, to your father’s room, if you will; but better to your own, for he is ill, and it will be cruel to disturb him.”
“My lady, I will search all the rooms which open into the grounds; the reptile may have crept into one of them,” said Prabu.
Those words frightened me. “Then our father’s first, good Prabu,” I said; “for he sleeps with his door open.”
In another minute, without ceremony, we had passed through the French windows of our father’s sleeping-room. The bed was at the other end, and our parent, covered with a mosquito curtain, appeared to be sleeping undisturbed by the hubbub.