flow 1 became an Idler. 29 
membered that on our side of the river there lived 
a settler who owned a bullock-cart, and to him he 
went. About ten o’clock he returned, and was 
shortly followed by the man with his lumbering 
cart drawn by a couple of bullocks. In this convey- 
ance, suffering much from the heat and dust and 
joltings on the rough hard road, I was carried back 
to the settlement. Oxen travel slowly, and we were 
on the road all day and all night, and only reached 
our destination when the eastern sky bad begun to 
grow bright, and the swallows from a thousand 
roosting-places were rising in wide circles into 
the still, dusky air, making it vocal with their 
warblings. 
My miserable journey ended at the Mission 
House of the South American Missionary Society, 
in the village on the south bank of the river, 
facing the old town; and the change from the 
jolting cart to a comfortable bed was an un- 
speakable relief, and soon induced refreshing sleep. 
Later in the day, on awakening, I found myself in 
the hands of a gentleman who was askilful surgeon 
as well as a divine, one who had extracted more 
bullets and mended broken bones than most sur- 
geons who do not practise on battle-fields. My 
bullet, however, refused to be extracted, or even 
found in its hiding-place, and every morning for a 
fortnight I had a bad quarter of an hour, when my 
host would present himself in my room with a quiet 
smile on his lips and holding in his hands a bundle 
of probes—oh, those probes !—of all forms, sizes, 
