“Well, you’re sitting on him,” said the old man.
All the Swallows, even Captain John, jumped up as if they had sat on a pin. The old man laughed. He came across the hut and rummaged under the blankets and pulled out an old cigar-box.
“It’s young Billy’s adder,” he said; “we’ll take it out to him. Hi, Billy,” he shouted from the doorhole, “let them have a look at your adder.”
He carried the little box out of the hut and the Swallows followed. Young Billy gave a last pat or two to the smoking mound, and came to them. He was another old man, but not quite so old as the first.
“Dad been showing you round?” he said to the Swallows.
“Is he your son?” Roger asked the first old man.
“He is that, and got sons and grandsons of his own, too. You wouldn’t think I was as old as all that. But I’m Old Billy and he’s Young Billy.”
“He doesn’t look like a son,” said Roger.
Young Billy laughed. “Let’s have the box, dad,” he said, and Old Billy gave him the cigar-box. He put the box on the ground and knelt beside it. He undid the catch and lifted the lid. There was nothing to be seen but a lump of greenish moss. He took a twig and gently stirred the lump. There was a loud hiss, and the brown head of a snake shot out of the moss and over the side of the box. Its forked tongue darted in and out. Young Billy touched it gently with his twig. It hissed again and suddenly seemed to pour itself in a long, brown stream over the edge of the box. Young Billy dropped his twig and took a stick and picked the snake up on the stick and lifted it off the ground. Its tail hung down on one side of the stick and its head on the other. Its head swayed from side to side as it swung there, hissing and darting out its tongue. The Swallows shrank back from it but could not look away. Suddenly it began sliding over the