"Oh, can I do it, do you suppose?" cried Ruth. "I never wore such things in my life."
"You'll learn," said the hermit.
He bustled about, making the tea and warming a big pancake of cornbread which he put into an iron dripping-pan down before the glowing coals at one side. While they waited for the water to bubble for the tea the old man went to the big chest, and began to talk and fondle something. Ruth heard the rustling again and turned around to look.
"Want to see my children, Young Miss?" asked the old man, whose eyes seemed as sharp as needles.
Ruth arose in curiosity and approached. Within a yard of the old man and his chest she stopped suddenly with a gasp. The hermit stood up with two snakes twining about his hands and wrists. The serpents ran their tongues out like lightning, and their beady eyes glowed as though living fire dwelt in their heads. Ruth was frightened, but she would not scream. The hermit handled the snakes as though they were as harmless as kittens—as probably they were, the poison sacks having been removed.
"They won't hurt you—harmless, harmless," said the old man, caressingly. "There, there, my pretties! Go to bed again."
He lifted the glass cover of the chest and
