“Mr. Harris,” said he, “instead of traveling for one hundred and twenty miles in the Desert of Atacama, why not follow the coast?  Distance for distance, would it not be better worth while to seek to reach the nearest town, either north or south?”

“But my young friend,” replied Harris, frowning slightly, “it seems to me that on this coast, which I know very imperfectly, there is no town nearer than three or four hundred miles.”

“To the north, yes,” replied Dick Sand; “but to the south——­”

“To the south,” replied the American, “we must descend as far as Chili.  Now, the distance is almost as long, and, in your place, I should not like to pass near the pampas of the Argentine Republic.  As to me, to my great regret, I could not accompany you there.”

“The ships which go from Chili to Peru, do they not pass, then, in sight of this coast?” asked Mrs. Weldon.

“No,” replied Harris.  “They keep much more out at sea, and you ought not to meet any of them.”

“Truly,” replied Mrs. Weldon.  “Well, Dick, have you still some question to ask Mr. Harris?”

“A single one, Mrs. Weldon,” replied the novice, who experienced some difficulty in giving up.  “I shall ask Mr. Harris in what port he thinks we shall be able to find a ship to bring us back to San Francisco?”

“Faith, my young friend, I could not tell you,” replied the American.  “All that I know is, that at the Farm of San Felice we will furnish you with the means of gaining the town of Atacama, and from there——­”

“Mr. Harris,” then said Mrs. Weldon, “do not believe that Dick Sand hesitates to accept your offers.”

“No, Mrs. Weldon, no; surely I do not hesitate,” replied the young novice; “but I cannot help regretting not being stranded a few degrees farther north or farther south.  We should have been in proximity to a port, and that circumstance, in facilitating our return to our country, would prevent us from taxing Mr. Harris’s good will.”

“Do not fear imposing upon me, Mrs. Weldon,” returned Harris.  “I repeat to you that too rarely have I occasion to find myself again in the presence of my compatriots.  For me it is a real pleasure to oblige you.”

“We accept your offer, Mr. Harris,” replied Mrs. Weldon; “but I should not wish, however, to deprive you of your horse.  I am a good walker——­”

“And I am a very good walker,” replied Harris, bowing.  “Accustomed to long journeys across the pampas, it is not I who will keep back our caravan.  No, Mrs. Weldon, you and your little Jack will use this horse.  Besides, it is possible that we may meet some of the farm servants on the way, and, as they will be mounted—­well, they will yield their horses to us.”

Dick Sand saw well that in making new objections he would oppose Mrs. Weldon.

“Mr. Harris,” said he, “when do we set out?”

“Even to-day, my young friend,” replied Harris.  “The bad season commences with the month of April, and it is of the utmost importance for you to reach the farm of San Felice first.  Finally, the way across the forest is the shortest, and perhaps the safest.  It is less exposed than the coast to the incursions of wandering Indians, who are indefatigable robbers.”