an answer. And
he would answer--nothing.

*****

After the _Indiana_ had cruised through the Line Islands she headed
back for Rotumah and Fiji. The girl came up on deck after supper. It
was blowing freshly and the barque was slipping through the water fast.
Lunumala walked to the binnacle and looked at the compass, pointing to
S.S.W. She gazed steadily at it awhile and then said to the Rotumah boy
in his own tongue--"Why is the ship going to the South?"

Tom, the Rotuman, grinned--"To Fiji, my white tropic bird."

Just then Chaplin came on deck, cigar in mouth. The girl and he looked
at each other. He knew by her white, set face that mischief was brewing.

Pointing, with her left hand, to the compass, she said, in a low voice--

"To Fiji?"

"Yes," said Chaplin, coolly, "to Fiji, where you must remain awhile,
Lunumala."

"And you?"

"That is my business. Question me no more now. Go below and turn in."

Standing there before him, she looked again in his hard, unrelenting
face. Then she slowly walked forward.

"Sulky," said Chaplin to Denison.

Steadily she walked along the deck, and then mounted to the to'gallant
fo'c's'le and stood a second or two by the cathead. Her white dress
flapped and clung to her slender figure as she turned and looked aft at
us, and her long, black hair streamed out like a pall of death. Suddenly
she sprang over.

With a curse Chaplin rushed to the wheel, and in double-quick time
the whaleboat was lowered and search was made. In half an hour Chaplin
returned, and gaining the deck said, in his usual cool way, to the mate:
"Hoist in the boat and fill away again as quick as possible." Then he
went below.

A few minutes afterwards he was at his accustomed amusement, making
tortoise-shell ornaments with a fret-saw.

"A sad end to the poor girl's life," said the supercargo.

"Yes," said the methodical ex-Honolulu black-birder, "and a sad end to
my lovely five hundred dollars."

HICKSON: A HALF-CASTE

"Mauki" Hickson and I were coming across from the big native town at
Mulinu'u Point to Apia one afternoon when we met a dainty little white
woman, garmented in spotless white. Hickson, touching his hat, walked on
across the narrow bridge that crosses the creek by the French Mission,
and waited for me on the other side.

This tiny lady in white was a lovable little creature. There was not a
man in Samoa but felt proud and pleased if she stopped and spoke to him.
And she could