“Why!” said Brush, “that’s just like the Bible story of Adam and Eve. You remember it says, that Adam was the first man God made, and He put him in a big garden full of flowers and trees. He told him he could eat everything there except the berries of only one tree, and He showed him that tree. God made Adam go to sleep, and then He cut open his side and took out one rib, and out of that bone He made a woman, and He named her Eve.”
“Did He whittle that rib bone just like you whittle a piece of wood and make men, and horses, and dogs, and other things?” asked Lester.
“Yes, I think He did. Then in that garden there were elephants, and lions, and tigers, and camels, and lots of other animals; but they didn’t eat each other up. God gave Adam the camels to ride, so he wouldn’t get tired. Camels ride easy, easier than a horse. You know a horse goes trot! trot! trot! and makes your stomach ache; but a camel goes just as e‑a‑s‑y, like rocking, like that boat, you know, when we went on the river and the wind blew, and the boat went up and down. Why, you know, the difference is just like this: you ride in a big wagon and it shakes you like everything; you ride in the superintendent’s carriage, and it rides just as easy as anything.”
“How do you know?” broke in Warren. “You never rode a camel, and you never rode in the superintendent’s carriage.”
“Yes, I have too. I’ve ridden in the superintendent’s carriage that time I went to interpret for him down to the big village. I rode with him in his carriage.”
“You boys said you wouldn’t stop my story,” protested Edwin, yawning.
“Say, Brush,” I asked, “when that bone was whittled, and it became Eve, what did she do?”
“Well, one morning she went down to the creek to swim, and, just as she was going to step into the water by a big willow-tree, she saw a snake in the tree with a man’s head on, and the snake—”
“It wasn’t a snake,” interrupted Warren; “it was the serpent, the Sunday-school teacher said so.”
“Well, it’s the same thing—the snake and the serpent is the same thing.”
“No, they’re not. The serpent is the kind that’s poisonous, like the rattlesnake; and the snake is like those that don’t poison, like the garter-snake and the bull-snake.”
“Brush, go on with your story,” I broke in impatiently. “Don’t mind Warren; he doesn’t know anything!”
“No, he doesn’t. Well, the serpent was Satan, and Sa—”
“How can Satan be a serpent and a snake?” asked Lester. “First you said it was a snake; then you said it was a serpent; now you say it was Satan!”
“You boys are bothering my story all the time. I’m going to stop.”
“Go on, Brush,” I urged; “don’t mind those boys; what do they know? They’re all way back in the Second Reader, and you are in the Fifth, and I am in the Third.”
“All right, I’ll go on; I don’t care what they say. Well, the Devil spoke to Eve and said—”
“Your snake has turned into a Devil now,” sneered Edwin. “Boys, why don’t you let me go on with my story; Brush doesn’t know how to tell a story.”
“Yes, I do too. Boys, you don’t know anything; you don’t know that the Devil and Satan and the serpent and the snake are the same thing; they’re all the same. If you would listen when the teacher talks to you in the schoolroom, and when the minister speaks to us in the chapel, you would learn something. All you got to do is to listen, but you don’t. When you are forced to sit still, you go to sleep; and when you are awake you tickle those that are asleep with straws, or stick pins in them. How are you going to learn anything when you do like that? You must listen; that’s what I’m doing. I want to know all about these things so I can be a preacher when I get big. I’m going to wear a long black coat, and a vest that buttons up to the throat, and I’m going to wear a white collar, and a pair of boots that squeaks and reaches to my knees, and—”
“Edwin, go on with your story, I want to hear that,” called Warren.
“He’s asleep,” said I.
“Only last Sunday,” resumed Brush, “the minister told us that the Devil went about like a roaring lion seeking whom he may de—de—What’s the rest of that word, Frank?”
“Vour.”
“Yes, ’vour, devour. The Devil went about like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour.”
“Bully for you, Brush!” exclaimed Lester. “That’s good; you didn’t cough big though, like the preacher does.”
“Don’t make fun of the old man, boys, he is here to help us; he wants to do us good.”
“Yes,” answered Warren; “I guess he wanted to do you good last week, when he switched your back for you!”
“I think I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t. You didn’t do anything; you only threw Phil Sheridan down and made his nose bleed.”
“I shouldn’t have done it. I saw a good chance and I did it, and the old man was looking at me. Now, boys, what did the preacher mean when he said the Devil went around like a roaring lion?”
“I s’pose,” said Edwin, “he means the Devil is like some of our big medicine men who can turn themselves into deer and elk, and any kind of animal, and the Devil can change himself into a hungry, howling lion and—”
“And into a Satan,” suggested Lester.
“And into a serpent,” added Warren.
“Into a snake,” I chimed in.
“And put a man’s head on!” ejaculated Edwin.
“And talk to women when they go swimming!” said
