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 fire was completely baked. The interior appeared like a white dough, like the crumb of bread; the taste was something like the artichoke.

It must be admitted that the bread was excellent, and I ate it with much gusto.

“Unfortunately,” said I, “it will not keep fresh, and it seems to me useless to attempt to lay in any store of it on board.”

“Indeed, Monsieur!” cried Ned. “But you speak as a naturalist; now I speak as a baker. Conseil, collect a quantity of those fruits for us to carry on board.”

“And how will you prepare them?” I asked.

“By making a fermented paste with their pulp, which will keep it sweet for an indefinite period. When I want to use the bread I have only to cook it on board, and, notwithstanding a slightly acid taste, you will find it excellent.”

“Then, Master Ned, I see that the bread will be all right.”

“If,” replied the Canadian, “we had some fruit and vegetables.”

“Let us look for them.”

When our search was ended we set about completing our dinner.

Our efforts were not fruitless, and towards mid-day we had laid in a quantity of bananas. These delicious products of the torrid zone ripen all the year round, and the Malays, who call them “pisang,” eat them raw. We also found some enormous “jaks,” somewhat “strong” in their flavour, savoury mangoes, and ananas of an immense size. But this collecting