this terrible, beautiful reptile showed no disposition to hurt us
until we threw clods at him and tried to head him off from a log fence
into which he was trying to escape. We were barefooted and of course
afraid to let him get very near, while we vainly battered him with the
loose sandy clods of the freshly ploughed field to hold him back until
we could get a stick. Looking us in the eyes after a moment's pause,
he probably saw we were afraid, and he came right straight at us,
snapping and looking terrible, drove us out of his way, and won his
fight.

Out on the open sandy hills there were a good many thick burly blow
snakes, the kind that puff themselves up and hiss. Our Yankee declared
that their breath was very poisonous and that we must not go near
them. A handsome ringed species common in damp, shady places was, he
told us, the most wonderful of all the snakes, for if chopped into
pieces, however small, the fragments would wriggle themselves together
again, and the restored snake would go on about its business as if
nothing had happened. The commonest kinds were the striped slender
species of the meadows and streams, good swimmers, that lived mostly
on frogs.

Once I observed one of the larger ones, about two feet long, pursuing
a frog in our meadow, and it was wonderful to see how fast the
legless, footless, wingless, finless hunter could run. The frog, of
course, knew its enemy and was making desperate efforts to escape to
the water and hide in the marsh mud. He was a fine, sleek yellow
muscular fellow and was springing over the tall grass in wide-arching
jumps. The green-striped snake, gliding swiftly and steadily, was
keeping the frog in sight and, had I not interfered, would probably
have tired out the poor jumper. Then, perhaps, while digesting and