BLERTHA AND THE SNAKE. : 47

 

And now it was poor Freda’s turn to raise a cry of bitterest anguish. Better than Bertha
: she knew the deadly danger to which her little
sister was exposed. A snake’s fang contains a
mortal poison in-it, and unless this poison is
drawn out of the wound at once it will work its
way into the blood and cause the person who has
been bitten by the snake to grow sleepy and
drowsy, and sleepier and drowsier until by and
by he falls into the sleep of death, from which
there is no awakening. Unless something was
done to save Bertha instantly, this was the fate
that would probably overtake her. And what
could a poor ignorant little girl like Freda do?
She would have given her life for her sister’s, but
how would that help her now? In her great and
bitter distress she looked wildly around her for
assistance, and there by her side was the old

sun-downer, whose appearance had frightened

her so unreasonably only a few minutes ago.

There was no thought of fear now. All such

thoughts were swallowed up in the one great

overwhelming terror for Bertha. “Oh, pray

help us!” she cried to him. “See, my little
sister is bitten by a snake!” and she held
out Bertha’s hand towards him.

In another instant the old sun-downer had
pulled out his knife, and was cleaning it upon
his sleeve after carefully sticking it into the
ground.

“Don’t you take on so, missy,” he said to Freda,

and it was wonderful what a kind voice he seemed to have.
“You tell your sister to be a brave little lass. Tl just make a little bit of a cut in her arm—I
won’t huit her more’n I can help—and she’ll be all right—bless you !—in no time.”

But at sight of the knife Bertha had begun to shriek

afresh. She put her arm behind her back crying loudly, “I
don’t want to be cut, I don’t! Iwon’t let him touch me,
I won't!” .
“You must, Bertha,” cried Freda. “See, it
doesn’t hurt so much,” and she snatched the
knife from the sun-downer’s hand, and
before he could prevent her had actually
sliced away a bit of flesh from her own
arm. The blood poured from the
gash. ;

“That ain’t a very nice thing to
do,” said the old man ; and it certainly
was not, though in her frenzy of dis-
tress Freda was hardly responsible for.
what she did. “You'd far better catch
hold of the little un’s hand than go a
hacking of your own that way.”

And Freda did as she was told. Poor
little Bertha! In vain she fought, and
screamed, and struggled. With a face as pale ni
as death, Freda held her tightly in her arms while the “."
old sun-downer cut the poisoned part away with his
knife. And then he lifted the poor bleeding arm to his lips and sucked