appointment; being, I believe, the Residency sweeper-out. Trouble
arising with the unpopular Vice-Resident, he had thrown his honours
down, and fled to the far parts of the atoll to plant cabbages--or at
least coco-palms. Thence he was now driven by such need as even a
Cincinnatus must acknowledge, and fared for the capital city, the seat
of his late functions, to exchange half a ton of copra for necessary
flour. And here, for a while, the story leaves to tell of his voyaging.

It must tell, instead, of our house, where, toward seven at night, the
catechist came suddenly in with his pleased air of being welcome; armed
besides with a considerable bunch of keys. These he proceeded to try on
the sea-chests, drawing each in turn from its place against the wall.
Heads of strangers appeared in the doorway and volunteered suggestions.
All in vain. Either they were the wrong keys or the wrong boxes, or the
wrong man was trying them. For a little Taniera fumed and fretted; then
had recourse to the more summary method of the hatchet; one of the
chests was broken open, and an armful of clothing, male and female,
baled out and handed to the strangers on the verandah.

These were Francois, his wife, and their child. About eight A.M., in the
midst of the lagoon, their cutter had capsized in jibbing. They got her
righted, and though she was still full of water put the child on board.
The mainsail had been carried away, but the jib still drew her
sluggishly along, and Francois and the woman swam astern and worked the
rudder with their hands. The cold was cruel; the fatigue, as time went
on, became excessive; and in that preserve of sharks, fear haunted them.
Again and again, Francois, the half-breed, would have desisted and gone
down; but the woman, whole blood of an amphibious race, still supported
him with cheerful words. I am reminded of a woman of Hawaii who swam
with her husband, I dare not say how many miles, in a high sea, and came
ashore at last with his dead body in her arms. It was about five in the
evening, after nine hours' swimming, that Francois and his wife reached
land at Rotoava. The gallant fight was won, and instantly the more
childish side of native character appears. They had supped, and told and
retold their story, dripping as they came; the flesh of the woman, whom
Mrs. Stevenson helped to shift, was cold as stone; and Francois, having
changed to a dry cotton shirt and trousers, passed the remainder of the
evenin