"I'll not disturb anything. I'll be very careful." And so he was. He
looked down into the hole, where he saw five creamy-white eggs, streaked
lengthwise with brown. But the queerest thing he saw was a snake-skin
which formed part of the nest.

"There's the skin of a snake," exclaimed the little boy. "How did that
come there? Did the snake try to steal your eggs, and did you kill him?"

"Oh, no," replied Father Kit-chee, "I found that skin over yonder in the
pasture. You know that A-tos-sa the Snake sheds his skin when it grows
old and stiff, and grows a new one that fits him better. We just pick up
the cast-off skins and build them into our nests."

"What on earth do you do it for?" asked the little boy. "I wouldn't want
such a thing around my bed. I don't like snakes, or even their skins."

"I don't like snakes either," said Kit-chee, "but it's a custom in our
family to use their skins in nest-building. Wherever you find a home
of one of our tribe, there you will find a snake-skin. I've heard my
grandfather say that our kinfolk, who dwell far to the south beyond the
big seawater, have the same custom. There's a tradition about it, too."

"Oh, please tell me about it," said the little boy. "I'm sure it will be
an interesting story."

"Very well; anything to please you," said Kit-chee.