144 



Idle Days in Patagonia. 



sitting up on his haunches, gazing at me with a 

 meek wondei' in Iiis large round timid eyes. 



The little birds are bolder and come in crowds, 

 peering curiously from every twig, chirping and 

 twittering with occasional explosions of shrill 

 derisive laughter. I feel myself blushing all over 

 my face ; their ieering remarks become intolerable, 



Dolichotis patagonica. 



and, owl-like, I Hy from their persecutions to hide 

 myself in a close thicket. There, with grey-green 

 curtains ahout and around me, I lie on a floor of 

 soft yellow sand, silent and motionless as my neigh- 

 bour the little spider seated on his geometric web, 

 till the waning light and the flute of the tinamou 

 send me home to supper. 



