“Come in,” he said. “You’ll get used to the dark in a minute.”
The doorway was so low that Captain John had to bend. It was so low that in spite of the sunlight outside it was very dark in the hut. The Swallows went in one by one and stood together inside the doorway. The old man had gone in first, but they could hardly see him. They heard him chuckle.
“You’ll see better than bats in a minute. Sit you down on yon bed.”
Gradually their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and they saw that on each side of the hut a stout log divided off a place where there were rugs and blankets. Between the two logs there was an open space, where it looked as if there had been a small fire. The only light came through the doorhole. Not a speck of light came from between the poles of which the wigwam was made. Every chink had been well stuffed with moss. Overhead there hung a lantern, like their own camp lantern, from a hook at the end of a bit of wire. But it was not lit. High above them was pitch darkness, where the poles met each other at the pointed top of the hut. The old man was squatting on the log that shut off one of the bed-places. The Swallows sat in a row along the other.
“Do you live here always?” asked Susan.
“While we’re burning,” replied the old man.
“While you’re burning the charcoal,” said Susan.
“Aye,” said the old man. “Someone has to be with the fire night and day, to keep him down like.”
“Have you really got a serpent?” asked Titty.
“An adder? Aye,” said the old man. “Like to see him?”
“Oh yes, please,” said all the Swallows.