here and there a fallen tree, and on these trees prone great lizards
sunned themselves, nodding their heads in a motion ever the same.
Something had died in that beautiful interspace, for a vulture rose
sullenly and went away over the top of the trees, and Azariah begged
Joseph not to pursue his search but to hasten out of the smell of the
carrion that a little breeze had just carried towards them. Besides,
this thick grass is full of snakes, he said, and the words were no
sooner out of his mouth than a snake issued from a thick tuft, stopped
and hissed. Snakes feed on mice and rats? Joseph asked, and come out of
their holes to catch them, isn't that so, Sir? Everything is out this
sunny morning, seeking its food, Azariah answered: snakes after mice,
vultures after carrion. This way, Joseph--yonder we may rest awhile, but
we must be careful not to sit upon a snake; that knoll yonder is free
from vermin, for the trees that grow about it are fir-trees and snakes
do not like any place where they can easily be detected. And they sat on
the fibrous ground and looked up into the darkness of the withered
pines--withered everywhere except in the topmost branches that alone
caught the light. A sad place to sit in, Joseph said. Don't you feel the
sadness, Sir? Azariah answered that he did. But it is preferable to
snake-bites, he added. At that moment slowly flapping wings were heard
overhead. It is the vulture returning, Azariah whispered to Joseph, and
he is bringing a comrade back to dinner. To a very smelly dinner, Joseph
rejoined. The breeze had veered suddenly and they found themselves again
in the smell of carrion.

We must go on farther, Azariah said, and after passing into many quiet
hollows and ascending many crests the path to which they had remained
faithful debouched at last on broken ground with the tail end of the
forest straggling up the opposite hillside in groups and single trees. I
know where we are now, Joseph cried. Do you not remember, Sir--Joseph's