16 Tdle 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 by finding three little pearly-white 
egos, and, feeling grateful for small mercies, | 
quickly broke them on my parched tongue. 
Half an hour later, about eleven o'clock, as we 
Chaiiar trees. 
