"You see, you're no quitter anyway, Priscilla!" Two minutes later Mrs. Alec and Hannah were surprised to receive into their midst a shrieking child, borne by a most determined girl, who was almost out of breath. "He's all right!" she gasped. "Except his neck, I mean! I dragged him. I had to! I'll tell you why by and by. Keep him till I get back!" Then she flew out of the house and down the path to the stables. A many-tined pitchfork rested against one of the sheds. It was one which William had used that morning in turning over sod for a new flower-bed. Priscilla in her hurried transit with David had marked the fork, and chosen it as her best weapon. Of all those cruel tines, one must surely be successful. Donald had told tales of forked sticks and heavy stones, but her hands were too inexperienced for those things. She seized the fork and ran down the path toward the rocks, not daring to stop lest her resolve should fail her; not even waiting to plan her attack lest the memory of that awful head should send her back to the kitchen. The saw-mill whirred again as she neared the rock. Apparently the snake had not stirred since his last conquest. This time she saw his wicked little eyes, his flattened head, and the contraction of his diamond-covered muscles as he made ready to spring. But Priscilla sprang first. The tines of the heavy pitchfork pierced the coils, and the only whirr which sounded was the whirr of iron against the rock. Priscilla, on the rock below, held the handle of the pitchfork firmly, and tried not to look at her victim as he writhed in agony. A sickness was creeping over her. There were queer vibrations in the air, and a strange, singing sound in her ears. Memory brought back the picture of an evening in Carver Standish's room at the Gordon School when she had felt the same way. She would not faint, she said to herself, rallying all her forces. She would die first! The snake had ceased writhing. He was surely dead. Little David need be no longer in danger, and she--perhaps she need not feel so unworthy when she thought of the Winthrop coat-of-arms. She was very white when she reached the kitchen after depositing the pitchfork and its burden by the shed. Grateful Mrs. Alec cried and held little David closer when Priscilla, fortified by Hannah's cider, told the story. Alec, who came in a few minutes later, was grateful, too, in his bluff Scotch way. The snake, he said, was a whopper. He had rarely seen a larger, and Miss Priscilla was a trump--the very bravest tenderfoot he'd ever seen! She had been true to her heritage, Donald said that evening--worthy to bear the Winthrop coat-of-arms. But then he knew she wasn't a quitter anyway. He had told her so that very afternoon. But Priscilla's honesty was equal to all the demands placed upon it that night. Donald's praise was but the last straw!