“Certainly, Mrs. Weldon, but at the farm you will find some sulphate of quinine.  That is worth still more to break the fever than the simple bark of the tree.”

Formerly, this bark was only reduced to powder, which bore the name of “Jesuits’ Powder,” because, in 1649, the Jesuits of Rome received a considerable quantity from their mission in America.

This last day of the journey passed without other incident.  Evening came and the halt was organized for the whole night as usual.  Till then it had not rained, but the weather was preparing to change, for a warm mist rose from the soil and soon found a thick fog.

They were touching, in fact, on the rainy season.  Fortunately, the next day, a comfortable shelter would be hospitably offered to the little troop.  There were only a few hours to elapse.

Though, according to Harris, who could only establish his calculation by the time which the journey had lasted, they could not be more than six miles from the farm, the ordinary precautions were taken for the night.  Tom and his companions would watch one after the other.  Dick Sand insisted that nothing should be neglected in that respect.  Less than ever, would he depart from his habitual prudence, for a terrible suspicion was incrusted in his mind; but he did not wish to say anything yet.

The retiring to rest had been made at the feet of a group of large trees.  Fatigue aiding, Mrs. Weldon and hers were already asleep, when they were awakened by a great cry.

“Eh! what’s the matter?” asked Dick Sand, quickly, who was on his feet first of all.

“It is I! it is I who have cried!” replied Cousin Benedict.

“And what is the matter with you?” asked Mrs. Weldon.

“I have just been bit!”

“By a serpent?” asked Mrs. Weldon, with alarm.

“No, no!  It was not a serpent, but an insect,” replied Cousin Benedict.  “Ah!  I have it!  I have it!”

“Well, crush your insect,” said Harris, “and let us sleep, Mr. Benedict!”

“Crush an insect!” cried Cousin Benedict.  “Not so!  I must see what it is!”

“Some mosquito!” said Harris, shrugging his shoulders.

“No!  It is a fly,” replied Cousin Benedict, “and a fly which ought to be very curious!”

Dick Sand had lit a little portable lantern, and he approached Cousin Benedict.

“Divine goodness!” cried the latter.  “Behold what consoles me for all my deceptions!  I have, then, at last made a discovery!”

The honest man was raving.  He looked at his fly in triumph.  He would willingly kiss it.

“But what is it, then?” asked Mrs. Weldon.

“A dipter, cousin, a famous dipter!” And Cousin Benedict showed a fly smaller than a bee, of a dull color, streaked with yellow on the lower part of its body.

“And this fly is not venomous?” asked Mrs. Weldon.

“No, cousin, no; at least not for man.  But for animals, for antelopes, for buffaloes, even for elephants, it is another thing.  Ah! adorable insect!”