und of the
saw-mill and the vision of the diamond-shaped dots, came the memory of a
lion rampant on a field of gold, an eagle perched upon a shield, and a
unicorn surrounded by stars. As the red came back into her white cheeks,
Donald's words came back also:

"You see, you're no quitter anyway, Priscilla!"

Two minutes later Mrs. Alec and Hannah were surprised to receive into
their midst a shrieking child, borne by a most determined girl, who was
almost out of breath.

"He's all right!" she gasped. "Except his neck, I mean! I dragged him. I
had to! I'll tell you why by and by. Keep him till I get back!"

Then she flew out of the house and down the path to the stables. A
many-tined pitchfork rested against one of the sheds. It was one which
William had used that morning in turning over sod for a new flower-bed.
Priscilla in her hurried transit with David had marked the fork, and
chosen it as her best weapon. Of all those cruel tines, one must surely be
successful. Donald had told tales of forked sticks and heavy stones, but
her hands were too inexperienced for those things.

She seized the fork and ran down the path toward the rocks, not daring to
stop lest her resolve should fail her; not even waiting to plan her
attack lest the memory of that awful head should send her back to the
kitchen.

The saw-mill whirred again as she neared the rock. Apparently the snake
had not stirred since his last conquest. This time she saw his wicked
little eyes, his flattened head, and the contraction of his
diamond-covered muscles as he made ready to spring. But Priscilla sprang
first. The tines of the heavy pitchfork pierced the coils, and the only
whirr which sounded was the whirr of iron against the rock.

Priscilla, on the rock below, held the handle of the pitchfork firmly, and
tried not to look at her victim as he writhed in agony. A sickness was
creeping over her. There were queer vibrations in the air, and a strange,
singing sound in her ears. Memory brought back the picture of an evening
in Carver Standish's room at the Gordon School when she had felt the same
way. She would not faint, she said to herself, rallying all her forces.
She would die first! The snake had ceased writhing. He was surely dead.
Little David need be no longer in danger, and she--perhaps she need not
feel so unworthy when she thought of the Winthrop coat-of-arms.

She was very white when she reached the kitchen after depositing the
pitchfork and it