He hopped along on one leg, trying to kick it off; still it clung to him.
He fell down. The horses and the tree got mixed up, and everything was
confusion.
Dave abused Joe remorselessly. "Go on!" he howled, waving in the air a
fistful of grass and weeds which he had pulled from the nose of the
plough; "clear out of this altogether!--you're only a damn nuisance."
Joe's eyes rested on the fistful of grass. They lit up suddenly.
"L-l-look out, Dave," he stuttered; "y'-y' got a s-s-snake."
Dave dropped the grass promptly. A deaf-adder crawled out of it. Joe
killed it. Dave looked closely at his hand, which was all scratches and
scars. He looked at it again; then he sat on the beam of the plough,
pale and miserable-looking.
"D-d-did it bite y', Dave?" No answer.
Joe saw a chance to distinguish himself, and took it. He ran home, glad
to be the bearer of the news, and told Mother that "Dave's got bit by a
adder--a sudden-death adder--right on top o' the finger."
How Mother screamed! "My God! whatever shall we do? Run quick," she
said, "and bring Mr. Maloney. Dear! oh dear! oh dear!"
Joe had not calculated on this injunction.
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