th you." I looks at him tolerable hard. "Fleas?"
says I. "And more," says he. "Wampires?" says I. "And more," says he.
"Musquitoes, perhaps?" says I. "And more," says he. "What more?" says
I. "Snakes more," says he; "rattle-snakes. You're right to a certain
extent, stranger. There air some catawampous chawers in the small way
too, as graze upon a human pretty strong; but don't mind THEM--they're
company. It's snakes," he says, "as you'll object to; and whenever you
wake and see one in a upright poster on your bed," he says, "like a
corkscrew with the handle off a-sittin' on its bottom ring, cut him
down, for he means wenom."'

'Why didn't you tell me this before!' cried Martin, with an expression
of face which set off the cheerfulness of Mark's visage to great
advantage.

'I never thought on it, sir,' said Mark. 'It come in at one ear, and
went out at the other. But Lord love us, he was one of another Company,
I dare say, and only made up the story that we might go to his Eden, and
not the opposition one.'

'There's some probability in that,' observed Martin. 'I can honestly say
that I hope so, with all my heart.'

'I've not a doubt about it, sir,' returned Mark, who, full of the
inspiriting influence of the anecodote upon himself, had for the moment
forgotten its probable effect upon his master; 'anyhow, we must live,
you know, sir.'

'Live!' cried Martin. 'Yes, it's easy to say live; but if we should
happen not to wake when rattlesnakes are making corkscrews of themselves
upon our beds, it may be not so easy to do it.'

'And that's a fact,' said a voice so close in his ear that it tickled
him. 'That's dreadful true.'

Martin looked round, and found that a gentleman, on the seat behind, had
thrust his head between himself and Mark, and sat with his chin resting
on the back rail of their little bench, entertaining himself with their
conversation. He was as languid and listless in his looks as most of the
gentlemen they had seen; his cheeks were so hollow that he seemed to be
always sucking them in; and the sun had burnt him, not a wholesome red
or brown, but dirty yellow. He had bright dark eyes, which he kept half
closed; only peeping out of the corners, and even then with a glance
that seemed to say, 'Now you won't overreach me; you want to, but you
won't.' His arms rested carelessly on his knees as he leant forward;
in the palm of his left hand, as English rustics have their slice of
cheese, he had a cake of