e.

"I am very much afraid of snakes," said Miss Margie, looking timidly
about her.

"But the snakes are more afraid of you than you are of them, Miss
Tiffany," replied Cornwood. "Even the rattlesnake will keep out of your
way, if he can."

"And I should surely keep out of his way. Are there rattlesnakes on
this island?" asked the timid English maiden.

"I am sorry to say there are; but you might live on the island ten
years and never see one. When you walk, you will naturally keep in the
paths cut through the woods. Rattlesnakes will not visit these
localities. But the rattlesnake is a very gentlemanly fellow; and if by
any chance one should stray into a path, he would give you abundant
warning before he did you any harm."

"I don't wish to see one," replied Miss Margie, with a shudder.

"You may be sure you will not meet any in the paths we take to-day,"
added the guide in a comforting tone. "But I would rather meet a dozen
of them than step upon a copperhead or a water-moccasin. These will run
away when they see you, if they can. The water-moccasin will not
trouble you if you let him alone. The only danger from any Florida
snake is in coming upon him when you don't see him."

"That is just what I am afraid of," said Miss Margie.

"This island has been settled so long that there can be but few snakes
of the harmful kind left on it; for whites and blacks always kill them
at sight."

After a very pleasant walk we reached the hotel, where a lunch was
ready for us. To me the principal feature of this lunch was the broiled
shad, the fish just taken from the water. It was the freshest and best
I had ever eaten. The oysters in the chowder were small, but had been
taken from the water that morning.

After the lunch the excursionists broke up into little parties, and
each went where they were best pleased to go. I felt rather inclined to
go where Miss Margie went, for I had found she was as agreeable as she
was pretty. Owen and the Shepards went to the Palmetto Avenue, which
leads to an ancient homestead, affording a fair specimen of the
planter's home in days gone by. Mr. Tiffany and his daughter wished to
ascend Mount Cornelia, to which there was a carriage-road all the way
from the hotel to the summit. This hill has an elevation of ninety-five
feet, the highest point on the coast from Navesink and Cuba. Mr.
Cornwood accompanied us, for, in spite of the warning Mr. Tiffany had
given me, he was the guide's most a