to
a full stop; and to illustrate how full the stop was she allowed herself
to go down, very unnecessarily, with a flop to the ground. But she no
sooner touched the ground than up she started to her feet again, with
an alarmed look on her owlish face, as if she had sat down on a
stinging-nettle.

"We thought you were dead," she remarked, still thinking that I might be
a ghost after all.

"No, still alive," I said. "And so because you came to the ground with
your pain, they left you behind! Well, never mind, Cla-cla, we are two
now and must try to be happy together."

By this time she had recovered from her fear and began to feel highly
pleased at my return, only lamenting that she had no meat to give
me. She was anxious to hear my adventures, and the reason of my long
absence. I had no wish to gratify her curiosity, with the truth at all
events, knowing very well that with regard to the daughter of the Didi
her feelings were as purely savage and malignant as those of Kua-ko. But
it was necessary to say something, and, fortifying myself with the good
old Spanish notion that lies told to the heathen are not recorded, I
related that a venomous serpent had bitten me; after which a terrible
thunderstorm had surprised me in the forest, and night coming on
prevented my escape from it; then, next day, remembering that he who is
bitten by a serpent dies, and not wishing to distress my friends with
the sight of my dissolution, I elected to remain, sitting there in the
wood, amusing myself by singing songs and smoking cigarettes; and after
several days and nights had gone by, finding that I was not going to die
after all, and beginning to feel hungry, I got up and came back.

Old Cla-cla looked very serious, shaking and nodding her head a great
deal, muttering to herself; finally she gave it as her opinion that
nothing ever would or could kill me; but whether my story had been
believed or not she only knew.

I spent an amusing evening with my old savage hostess. She had thrown
off her ailments and, pleased at having a companion in her dreary
solitude, she was good-tempered and talkative, and much more inclined to
laugh than when the others were present, when she was on her dignity.

We sat by the fire, cooking such food as we had, and talked and smoked;
then I sang her songs in Spanish with that melody of my own--

Muy mas clara que la luna;

and she rewarded me by emitting a barbarous chant in a shrill, screechy
voi