“Aren’t you going to tell it to me?” Eden asked.
Hedger fumbled among the radishes. “I don’t know if it’s the proper kind of story to tell a girl.”
She smiled; “Oh, forget about that! I’ve been balloon riding today. I like to hear you talk.”
Her low voice was flattering. She had seemed like clay in his hands ever since they got on the boat to come home. He leaned back in his chair, forgot his food, and, looking at her intently, began to tell his story, the theme of which he somehow felt was dangerous tonight.
The tale began, he said, somewhere in Ancient Mexico, and concerned the daughter of a king. The birth of this Princess was preceded by unusual portents. Three times her mother dreamed that she was delivered of serpents, which betokened that the child she carried would have power w
