The little boys collected the chips and pieces of wood for fire-wood; while their mamma prepared supper, which we needed much after the extraordinary fatigues of this day.
The next day, however, being Sunday, we looked forward to as a day of rest, of recreation, and thanksgiving to the great God who had preserved us.
Supper was now ready, my wife took a large earthen pot from the fire, which contained a good stew, made of the flamingo, which Ernest had told her was an old bird, and would not be eatable, if dressed any other way.
His brothers laughed heartily, and called him the cook.

He was, however, quite right, the stew, well seasoned, was excellent, and we picked the very bones.

Whilst we were thus occupied, the living flamingo, accompanying the rest of the fowls, and free from bonds, came in, quite tame, to claim his share of the repast, evidently quite unsuspicious that we were devouring his mate; he did not seem at all inclined to quit us.

The little monkey, too, was quite at home with the boys, leaping from one to another for food, which he took in his forepaws, and ate with such absurd mimicry of their actions, that he kept us in continual convulsions of laughter.

To augment our satisfaction, our great sow, who had deserted us for two days, returned of her own accord, grunting her joy at our re-union.