he most fascinating race on
earth, was to him worth foregoing sleep all night.

Tiura assumed a serious pose for the divulgement of secret lore. His
language became grandiose, as if he repeated verbatim a rune of
his ancestors:

"We Maoris lived at that time in the great peace of our long, quiet
years. No outside influence, no evil wind, troubled our dreams. The
men and women were hinuhinu, of high souls. At the head of the valley,
in a grove of breadfruit, lived Taua a Tiaroroa, his vahine Rehua,
and their two children, whose bodies were as round as the breadfuit,
and whose eyes were like the black borders of the pearl-shells of the
Conquered atolls. They were named Pipiri and Rehua iti, but were known
as Pipiri Ma, the inseparables. One night when the moon, Avae, was
at the height of its brilliancy, Taua and Rehua trod the green path
to the sea. They lifted their canoe from its couch upon the grass,
and with lighted torch of cocoanut-leaves glided toward the center
of the lagoon.

"The woman stood motionless at the prow, and from her right hand
issued the flames of their torch with a hissing sound--the flames
which fell later in smoky clouds along the shore. A multitude of fish
of strange form, fascinated by the blinding light, swam curiously
about the canoe like butterflies. Taua stopped padpling, and directed
his twelve-pronged harpoon toward the biggest fish. With a quick and
powerful stroke the heavy harpoon shot like an arow from his hand
and pierced the flashing scales. Soon the baskets of purau-fiber
were filled, and they took back the canoe to its resting-place,
and returned to their house, again treading the emerald trail which
shone bright under the flooding moon. On the red-hot stones of the
umu the fish grew golden, and sent forth a sweet odor which exceeded
in deliciousness even the smell of monoi, the ointment of the oil of
the cocoanut and crushed blossoms. Pipiri Ma rolled upon their soft
mats, and their eyes opened with thoughts of a bountiful meal. They
awaited with hearts of joy the moment when their mother would come
to take them to the cook-house, the fare umu.

"The parents did not come to them. The minutes passed slowly in the
silence, counted by beats of their hearts. Yet their mother was not
far away. They heard the noise of the dried purau-leaves as they were
placed on the grass. They distinguished the sound of the breadfruit
as they rolled dully upon the large leaves, and then the silve