The morning dawned cool and pleasant. All were ready for an early start and there followed a week of delight for the children. The railway journey over, they took their way through the forests, over plains and across rivers. In some the hoofs of the horses or of the sure-footed little burros the children rode sank in the sand which covered the land as at one time the sea had covered it. Again, trees appeared, and at last they reached the virgin forest where monkeys scampered among the trees and the cries of parrots were heard in the air, as their brilliant plumage flashed in the sunlight.

At times the bridle path was so narrow that no two horses could have passed each other had they met.

Convolvulus and creeping plants encircled the huge trees, and, swaying in the breeze, long vines swung gracefully down, often forming natural swings in which the children delighted. At night the party camped in tents, the negro servants cooking wonderful meals from the game shot during the day.

The days were not too hot and at night a fire was often necessary, for when the terral[16] did not blow from the land the veracao[17] wafted zephyrs from the ocean. The air was laden with the subtle perfume of the magnolia and orange blossom, and life seemed an existence of pleasure and joy.

The Senhor's trip had not been all for pleasure. It was his intention to increase his export trade in native woods, and he had made the journey through the forest to see whether it would be possible to get wood to the sea, were he to buy a tract of land in this region. The children, however, knew nothing about this. They were occupied with having a good time, and they were having it.

Martim and Affonzo hunted and fished, while the girls vied with each other in weaving rush baskets and in making flower-chains of the wonderful flowers which grew everywhere along the road, in gorgeous beauty.

As they neared Iguazu, the roar of the cataract could be heard for miles, and when they finally saw the falls, beyond the first surprised "Oh!" which broke from all, there was nothing said.

The river Iguazu makes a sharp bend above the falls and a portion of it rushes around the inner bank and falls into a gorge two hundred and ten feet deep; the remainder of the current, however, sweeps over the edge of a cliff and making two great leaps of a hundred feet falls in a huge half moon three thousand feet wide. All about was the most charming Brazilian scenery, with trees over one hundred feet high overgrown with tropical vines, and above all shone the deep blue of the tropical sky.

"Well, little Yankee, how about Niagara now?" asked Martim teasingly.

"There's only one Niagara," said Maria sturdily, and her father added,

"Niagara and Iguazu cannot be compared. The one is surrounded by cultivated parks and thriving modern cities, the other with the abandon of nature. Niagara makes a single leap over a precipice one hundred and eighty feet high, while Iguazu is broken in fall but far wider. Either one is a possession for any country to be proud of and neither one is worth a single quarrel.

"We are to camp here for some days. I hope you little folk will have a nice time and I am not going to issue a lot of commands to spoil your pleasure. Only one thing is forbidden; you must never go away from camp without one of the servants unless you are with one of us grown people. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," they all said, and he added,

"I am sure I can trust you. The forest is full of all manner of animals and creeping things, and it would be very easy to lose your way, so that we could never find you again. Now, have all the fun you can for our week here will soon be over."

What orgies of delight followed! The girls bathed in the stream and ran wild in the sunshine, happy and tanned, going into the forest with the boys, except when they were going hunting.

Several days before their return home, the whole party went up to San Ignacio to see the ruins of the old mission in the heart of the woods. Huge trees mark the site of the flourishing town, where once were cheerful homes which only eighty years ago were burned. So well were these dwellings built that the ruins are in excellent preservation, and the children played hide-and-seek in and out of the deserted walls, their merry laughter waking the echoes of the past. Maria had taught them the game she called 'High Spy,' and they enjoyed it greatly, she most of all.

"Now then, Martim, it's your turn to be it," she said. "And you can't find me!" as she sped away to hide in some new and strange place. Before she knew it she had gone farther into the forest than she meant, and she did not know how to return. She turned this way and that, but there seemed no path. All about her the woods hemmed her in everywhere like a great green curtain. Then catching her foot in a swinging vine she fell and hurt her ankle. Frightened, she stood under a great magnolia to think.

"I must not be silly and cry," she said to herself. "I can't have gone very far, and if I sit still they'll be sure to come and find me. If I go on I may just get farther and farther away. I am going to stay right here anyway, until my ankle is better," as she seated herself quietly.

Maria was a brave child and old for her age, and she sat quite still, though the tears came into her eyes.

Soon she grew very drowsy and could hardly keep awake, for the woods were full of soft, cooing sounds and at last she dropped asleep.

It was almost twilight when she awoke, and the rays of the setting sun gleamed between the leaves. Drowsily stirring, she heard the sound of voices, and sitting up suddenly she saw a little Indian girl talking to a splendid cockatoo which perched upon her hand. The parrot was chattering in Portuguese, and his little mistress was talking to him lovingly, but she sprang away in fright as Maria got up from the ground.

"Can you show me the way to the camp?" she asked. "I am lost."

"What camp? Where did you come from?" asked the Indian. She was a little younger than Maria, and dressed in a quaint little peasant's costume of blue skirt and red blouse with a huge straw hat upon her black hair.

Quickly Maria told her story and the little girl said,

"I can take you back. You must have run very quickly to have come so far. We must start at once to reach the Mission before dark."

"Oh, thank you ever so much," said Maria. "I am so anxious to get back, for my father will be hunting for me."

"He might hunt all night and not find you, for the forest has many paths," said the little girl. She had a sad little face but it was very sweet when she smiled.

"What is your name?" asked Maria as the two girls trudged along through the forest, her companion still carrying the cockatoo.

"Guacha,[18] because I have no mother," she answered. "That is my Indian name, but I am also called Teresa."

"My mother is dead, too," said Maria, and the two little girls looked into one another's eyes with sympathy.

"My father is dead, also," said Guacha. "We were of the Mission Indians, but all my own people died of the fever two years ago."

"But who do you live with?" asked Maria. "Have you no friends at all?"

"Oh, I live with some of the Indians who were my father's friends!" said Guacha, "and Chiquita here is my good friend," and she smiled at the bird, who chattered to her gaily and pecked gently at her cheek. "I wish you could go home with me!" cried Maria impulsively, and just then she heard a shout resounding through the forest,

"Maria! Maria!" sounded her father's voice, and the two little girls hurried along faster, Maria answering the call as loudly as she could.

In a few moments they came in sight of the camp, and Maria was caught to her father's breast and kissed and scolded all in the same breath, while the rest of the children gathered around, eager with questions, all but Guacha, who stood apart, wistful and silent. Maria did not forget her, however, for escaping from her father's arms, she took the little Indian girl by the hand and said,

"Scold me all you want to, Daddy, though I did not mean to run away, but be kind to Guacha, who brought me back and who has no father."

Then the little Indian was made welcome, thanked and made much of, and the Senhora said,

"You must stay all night with us, dear child, for it is too late for you to return home through the forest. Will they be worried about you?"

"Thank you, Senhora, I will stay," she said simply. "There is no one at all to worry about me."