The missionary listened gravely and then inquired: "Where is the cobra now ?" "I cannot tell, sir; he moved off among the flower-pots, but I do not know whither he went." "It is not my practice to go shooting on Sunday," remarked the minister, "but it won't do to have that serpent where it is liable to bite one of us.

He must have a hole somewhere near the flower-pots; please keep watch while I get my pistol." The missionary always kept a loaded revolver for use when traveling through the jungle at night, and he speedily stepped out on the veranda, with the weapon in hand, and started to find the cobra.
Two large native flower-pots stood within a couple of yards of the veranda.

Each contained a fragrant rose, of which the good man's wife was very fond.

Every day she spent some time sprinkling them with water or removing the dead leaves, never suspecting what proved to be the fact that while thus employed, she continually moved about a spot where an immense cobra lay coiled.
An opening was discovered directly between the flower pots, partly concealed by the grass.

It was about as thick as a man's wrist, and descended perpendicularly, expanding into a small chamber.
The minister called for a hand-mirror, and with little trouble threw the bright reflection of the sun into the hole, a little more than a foot deep, fully lighting up the interior.
The cobra was there! It lay motionless in a glistening coil, as if resting from its fruitless pursuit of the frog and brooding over its disappointment.