"Wrong, Barney, as usual," said Martin, who was busily engaged concluding supper with an orange. "If we had pleasures without discomforts we wouldn't half enjoy them. We need lights and shadows in life—what are you grinning at, Barney?"
"Oh! nothin', only ye're a remarkable philosopher, when ye're in the vein."
"Tis always in vain to talk philosophy to you, Barney, so good-night t' ye. Oh, dear me, I wish I could sit down! but there's no alternative,—either bolt upright or quite flat."
In a quarter of an hour they both forgot pleasures and sorrows alike in sleep. Next day the sun rose on the edge of the campo as it does out of the ocean, streaming across its grassy billows, and tipping the ridges as with ruddy gold. At first Martin and Barney did not enjoy the lovely scene, for they felt stiff and sore; but after half an hour's ride they began to recover; and when the sun rose in all its glory on the wide plain, the feelings of joyous bounding freedom that such scenes always engender obtained the mastery, and they coursed along in silent delight.
The campo was hard, composed chiefly of a stiff red clay soil and covered with short grass in most places; but here and there were rank bushes of long hairy grasses, around and amongst which grew a multitude of the most exquisitely beautiful flowerets and plants of elegant forms. Wherever these flowers flourished very luxuriantly there were single trees of stunted growth and thick bark, which seldom rose above fifteen or twenty feet. Besides these there were rich flowering myrtles, and here and there a grotesque cactus or two.
Under one of these trees they reined up after a ride of two hours, and piqueting their horses, prepared breakfast. It was soon despatched, and then remounting, away they went once more over the beautiful plains.
About mid-day, as they were hasting towards the shelter of a grove which appeared opportunely on the horizon, Barney said suddenly,—
"Martin, lad, we're lost! We're out of our course, for sartin."
"I've been thinking that for some time, Barney," replied Martin; "but you have your compass, and we can surely make the coast by dead reckoning—eh?"
"True, lad, we can; but it'll cost us a dale o' tackin' to make up for lee-way. Ah, good luck to ye! here's a friend 'll help us."