"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 weather down here, captain?" Mrs. Renshaw asked. "Not always, Mrs. Renshaw. The weather is generally fine, I admit, but occasionally short but very violent gales sweep down from off the land. They are known as pamperos; because, I suppose, they come from the pampas. They are very dangerous from the extreme suddenness with which they sweep down. If they are seen coming, and the vessel can be stripped of her canvas in time, there is little danger to be apprehended, for they are as short as they are violent." "We have been wonderfully fortunate altogether so far," Mrs. Renshaw said. "We have not had a single gale since we left England. I trust that our good luck will continue to the end."