My wife now carefully spread the grains on sailcloth, in the sun, to dry them.

I also formed some vermicelli, by giving more consistence to the paste, and forcing it through the holes in little pipes.

My wife promised with this, and the Dutch cheese, to make us a dish equal to Naples maccaroni.

We were now contented; we could at any time obtain more sago by cutting down a tree, and we were anxious to get home to try our water-pipes.

We spent the rest of the day in loading the cart with our utensils and the halves of the tree.