"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 dropped them into its
interior. There was a great hissing and rustling. The hermit stepped
to the hanging lamp and turned the shade so as to send the radiance