queezed to death. There was a noise as of something rustling in the
straw, and after listening awhile, Philip said: "I suppose it's a
mouse," and soon fell fast asleep again, because he was not afraid of
mice even when they ran across his nose.

In the morning he took his blankets out again, and hung them on the
fence, shook up his mattress and pillow, and then spread the sheets
over them, tucking them in all round, and then he got ready his
breakfast.

The whole of that day was spent by the snake in trying to find a way
out. The sheets being tucked in he was still in the dark, and he
kept going round and round, feeling for the hole with his nose until
he went completely out of his mind, just as a man does when he is
lost in the bush. So the day wore on, night and bedtime came again,
and Philip lay down to rest once more right over the imprisoned
snake. Then that snake went raving mad, lost all control of himself,
and rolled about recklessly. Philip sat up in bed, and a cold sweat
began to trickle down his face, and his hair stood on end. He
whispered to himself as if afraid the snake might hear him. "The
Lord preserve us, that's no mouse; it's a snake right under me. What
shall I do?"

The first thing to do was to strike a light; the matches and candle
were on a box at his bedside, and he slowly put out his hand to reach
them, expecting every moment to feel the fangs in his wrist. But he
found the match-box, struck a light, carefully examined the floor as
far as he could see it, jumped out of bed at one bound, and took
refuge in the other room. There he looked in every corner, and along
every rafter for the other snake, for he knew that at this season
snakes are often found in pairs, but he could not see the mate of the
one he had left in bed.

There was no sleep for Philip that night, and, by the light of the
candle, he sat waiting for the coming day, and planning dire
vengeance. At sunrise he examined closely every hole, and crevice,
and corner, and crack in both rooms, floor and floor, slabs,
rafters, and shingles. He said, at last: "I think there is only
one snake, and he is in the bed."

Then he went outside, and cut a stick about five feet long, one end
of which he pointed with his knife. Returning to the bedroom, he
lifted up with the point of his stick the sheets, blankets, and
pillows, took them outside, and hung them on the fence. Next he
turned over the mattress slowly, but there was