The jackal was dragged off, and we then finished our work of unloading our boat. When this was accomplished we started for our tent, and finding no preparation for supper, I said, "Fritz, let us have a Westphalian ham." "Ernest," said my wife, smiling, "let us see if we cannot conjure up some eggs." Fritz got out a splendid ham and carried it to his mother triumphantly, while Ernest set before me a dozen white balls with parchment-like coverings. "Turtles' eggs!" said I. "Well done, Ernest! where did you get them?" "That," replied my wife, "shall be told in due course when we relate our adventures; now we will see what they will do toward making a supper for you; with these and your ham I do not think we shall starve." Leaving my wife to prepare supper, we returned to the shore and brought up what of the cargo we had left there; then, having collected our herd of animals, we returned to the tent. The meal which awaited us was as unlike the first supper we had there enjoyed as possible. My wife had improvised a table of a board laid on two casks; on this was spread a white damask tablecloth, on which were placed knives, forks, spoons, and plates for each person. A tureen of good soup first appeared, followed by a capital omelette, then slices of the ham; and finally some Dutch cheese, butter, and biscuits, with a bottle of the captain's Canary wine, completed the repast. While we thus regaled ourselves, I related to my wife our adventures, and then begged she would remember her promise and tell me all that had happened in my absence. CHAPTER III OUR HOME IN THE GIANT TREE "I will spare you a description," said my wife, "of our first day's occupations; truth to tell, I spent the time chiefly in anxious thought and watching your progress and signals. I rose very early this morning, and with the utmost joy perceiving your signal that all was right, hastened to reply to it, and then, while my sons yet slumbered, I sat down and began to consider how our position could be improved. 'For it is perfectly impossible,' said I to myself, 'to live much longer where we are now. The sun beats burningly the lifelong day on this bare, rocky spot; our only shelter is this poor tent, beneath the canvas of which the heat is even more oppressive than on the open shore. Why should not I and my little boys exert ourselves as well as my husband and Fritz? Why should not we too try to accomplish something useful? If we could but exchange this melancholy and unwholesome abode for a pleasant, shady dwelling place, we should all improve in health and spirits. Among those delightful woods and groves where Fritz and his father saw so many charming things, I feel sure there must be some little retreat where we could establish ourselves comfortably; there must be, and I will find it.'