86 MARTIN RATTLER.

“My name is Carlos,” replied the hermit gravely ;
“and this is the flesh of the armadillo.”

“ Arma—what—o?” inquired Barney.

“ Armadillo,” repeated the hermit. “He is very
good to eat, but very difficult to catch. He digs
down so fast we cannot catch him, and must smoke
him out of his hole.”

“Have you many cows?” inquired Martin, as he
replenished his cup with coffee.

“Cows?” echoed the hermit; “I have got no
cows.”

“Where do you get such capital cream, then?”
asked Martin in surprise.

The ‘hermit smiled. “Ah, my friends, that cream
has come from a very curious cow. It is from a cow
that grows in the ground.”

“Grows!” ejaculated his guests.

“Yes, he grows. I will show him to you one
day.”

The hermit’s broad shoulders shook with a quiet
internal laugh. “I will explain a little of that you
behold on my table. The coffee I get from the trees.
There are plenty of them here. Much money is made
in Brazil by the export of coffee—very much. The
cakes are made from the mandioca root, which I grow

near my house. The root is dried and ground into