i6 



Idle Days in Patagonia. 



but it was not yet the season for ripe fruits, and its 

 branches were laden only with the great nests of 

 the industrious woodman. Though it was now the 

 end of December and past the egg season, in my 



craving for a drop of 

 moisture I began to 

 pull down and demolish 

 the nests no light 

 task, considering how 

 large and compactly made 

 they were. I was rewarded 

 for my pains oy finding three little pearly- white 

 eggs, and, feeling grateful for small mercies, I 

 quickly broke them on my parched tongue. 



Half an hour later, about eleven o'clock, as we 



Chan. 



