A Man and a Woman | Page 6

of the forest, made up of many sounds.
The boy was satisfied with the prospect. Suddenly he started. There
was a call which was not of peacefulness. He knew the cry. He had
heard it when some bird of prey had seized a smaller one. It was the
call of the sparrow now, and it came from his clump of bushes. His
family was in danger. A hawk, perhaps, but he would have seen such a
foe in its descent. It might be a cat-bird or a weasel?
With a rush, the boy was across the garden, and as he ran he snatched

up what was for a person of such inches an ideal club, a cut of hickory,
perhaps two feet in length, not over an inch in thickness, but tough and
heavy enough for a knight errant of his years. He broke through the
slight herbage about the place where the bushes grew thickest, and,
getting into an open space, had a fair view of the particular shrub
wherein were the bird's-nest and his birdlings. He stopped short and
looked, then ran back a little, then looked again, and straightway there
rose from his throat a scream which, though greater in volume, was
almost in its character like that other wild cry of the two sparrows who
were fluttering pitifully and desperately about their nest, tempting their
own death each instant in defense of their half-fledged young. He stood
with his youthful limbs half paralyzed, and screamed, for he saw what
was most horrible, and what it seemed he could not check nor hinder,
though a cruel tragedy was going on before his eyes!
Curled easily about the main stem of the bush, close to which, upon a
forked limb, rested the sparrow's nest, its dark coils reaching downward
and its free neck and head waving regularly to and fro, was a monstrous
black-snake, and in its jaws fluttered feebly one of the youthful
sparrows. Evidently the seizure had just been made when the boy burst
in upon the scene. The snake's eyes glittered wickedly, and it showed
no disposition to drop its prey because of the intruder. It only reared its
head and swung slowly from side to side. Lying almost at full length
upon a branching limb of the same bush, and on a level with the nest,
was a second serpent, its head raised slightly, but motionless, awaiting,
it seemed, its opportunity to seize another of the tender brood. The
parent birds flew about in converging circles in their strait, clamoring
piteously and approaching dangerously near to the jaws of their
repulsive enemies. The boy but stood and screamed. They were the
greatest black-snakes he had ever seen. Then, all at once, he became
another creature. His childish voice changed in its key, and, club in
hand, screaming still louder, he ran right at the bush. At the same
moment his frightened mother came running down the pathway,
screaming also.
As the boy leaped downward, both snakes, with wonderful swiftness,
dropped to the ground and darted across the open space of a few yards,

toward the creek. Side by side, with crests erect, they glided, and one of
them still held between his jaws the unfortunate young sparrow. The
boy did not hesitate a moment. Still making a great noise, but hoarsely
for a creature of his age, he ran to head them off and barely passed
them as they touched the water. He leaped in ahead of them and they
were beside him in an instant. The water was up to his waist. He
plunged deeper recklessly. With a cry of rage he struck at the serpent
with the bird, and struck and struck again, blindly, still giving utterance
to that odd sound, and with the fury of a young demon. The woman had
reached the bank and stood, unknowing what to do, shrieking in
maternal terror, while across the clearing a man was running. And then
a fierce chance blow, delivered with all the strength of the maddened
boy, alighted fairly, just below the head of the snake carrying away the
bird, and in a second it was done for, floating, writhing down the
stream with a broken neck, and its tiny prey loosened and drifting away
beside it.
The mother gasped in relief, but only for a moment. The boy cast one
glance at the floating reptile and the bird, and only one, then turned to
the other serpent. It had almost reached the shore, and between that and
the covert it might attain was a stretch of shrubless ground. Already its
black length was defined on the short grass when the boy rushed from
the water with uplifted club, just as his father came in full view of the
scene from the other