Now dig, Swanny, and you'll
see he's gone."
"It's only an old Cornish charm," said Valentine. "I often heard it when
I was a boy."
"I call it heathenish!" exclaimed Mr. Swan. "What do folks want with a
charm when they've got a spade to chop the beast's head off with?"
"But as he's gone, Swan," observed Valentine, "of course you cannot dig
him out; so you need not trouble yourself to dig at all."
"Oh, but that's not fair. We want, in case he's there, to see him."
"No, no," said Swan dogmatically; "I never heard of such a thing as
having the same chance twice over. I said if you'd sit on that bench,
all on you, I'd dig him out, if he was there. You wouldn't; you thought
you'd a charm worth two of that work, and so you've said your charm."
"Well, we'll come and sit upon the bench tomorrow, then, and you'll dig
him."
"That'll be as I please. I've no call to make any promises," said Swan,
looking wise.
The only observer felt a deep conviction that the children would never
see that snake, and slight and ridiculous as the incident was, Swan's
last speech sunk deeply into Valentine's heart, and served to increase
his dejection.
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