A YOUNG NATCSALKT. 305 



"Here is the angel-plant,* " resumed PEncuerado, sud- 

 denly. " How pleased my mother used to be when I found 

 one of them." 



" What are its good properties ?" I asked. 



" Oh ! it produces beautiful dreams, which seem to lift 

 you to heaven." 



The Indian again became pensive, sometimes casting a 

 glance over the vast prospect, and sometimes pulling up 

 pieces of the turf which grew at his feet. 



"It only needs a palm-tree to make the landscape quite 

 complete," said he, thoughtfully. 



In a minute or so he advanced towards the bushes, and, 

 kneeling down, plucked a tuft of yellow marigold, which are 

 called in this country "the dead man's flower." After- 

 wards I heard him sobbing. 



" Oh Cheina ! what is, the matter ?" cried Lucien, running 

 up to his friend. 



The Indian raised himself and took the boy in his arms. 



" Once I had a mother, brothers, and a country," he said, 

 sadly ; " and this flower reminds me that all those are now 

 sleeping in the grave." 



" Then you don't love me ?" replied Lucien, embracing 

 him. 



The only answer FEncuerado made was pressing the boy 

 so tightly against his breast as to draw from him a slight 

 cry. 



This scene quite affected us, and I and my friend, side by 

 side, walked back to the hut deeply sunk in thought. 



Hunger soon brought with it more commonplace ideas. 

 The white and juicy flesh of the iguana was quite a feast 

 for us all. Our meal we sat over a longer time than usual ; 

 for in conversation we entered upon the subject of our na- 

 tive countries, and the theme appeared inexhaustible. I re- 

 minded my friend that, only a few days before, he had 



