d to tell the tale, and certainly I should have no chance
whatever."

"Why would you have less chance than other people, Mr. Atherton?"

"My attractions would be irresistible," Mr. Atherton replied gravely. "I
should furnish meat for a whole tribe."

"How horrible!" Marion exclaimed. "What! are they cannibals?"

"Very much so indeed; and one can hardly blame them, for it is the only
chance they have of getting flesh. Their existence is one long struggle
with famine and cold. They are not hunters, and are but poor fishermen.
I firmly believe that if I were in their place I should be a cannibal
myself."

"How can you say such things?" Marion asked indignantly. "I never know
whether you are in earnest, Mr. Atherton. I am sure you would never be a
cannibal."

"There is no saying what one might be if one were driven to it," he
replied placidly. "Anyhow, I trust that I shall never be driven to it.
In my various journeyings and adventures I am happy to say that I have
never been forced to experience a prolonged fast, and it is one of the
things I have no inclination to try. This weather is perfection, is it
not?" he went on, changing the subject. "The _Flying Scud_ is making
capital way. I only hope it may last. It is sad to think that we shall
soon exchange these balmy breezes for a biting wind. We are just saying,
Wilfrid," he went on as the lad strolled up to them, "that you will soon
have to lay aside your white flannels and put on a greatcoat and
muffler."

"I shall not be sorry," Wilfrid replied. "After a month of hot weather
one wants bracing up a bit, and I always enjoy cold."

"Then you should have gone out and settled in Iceland instead of New
Zealand."

"I should not have minded that, Mr. Atherton. There is splendid
fishing, I believe, and sealing, and all that sort of thing. But I do
not suppose the others would have liked it. I am sure father would not.
He cannot bear cold, and his study at home used always to be kept up at
almost the temperature of an oven all the winter. I should think New
Zealand would exactly suit him."

Before the sun set they had the satisfaction of sailing out of the muddy
water of the La Plata, and of being once more in the bright blue sea.
For the next week the _Flying Scud_ sailed merrily southward without
adventure. The air grew sensibly cooler each day, and the light garments
of the tropics were already exchanged for warmer covering.

"Do you always get this sort of weath