turn, before taking their places
for the long night watch beside him. No entreaty could induce them to
retire, to rest themselves for the painful and arduous duties of the
morrow. It would show little love for Tusitala, they said, if they did
not spend their last night beside him. Mournful and silent, they sat in
deep dejection, poor, simple, loyal folk, fulfilling the duty they owed
their chief.

A messenger was despatched to the few chiefs connected with the family,
to announce the tidings and bid them assemble their men on the morrow
for the work there was to do.

Sosimo asked on behalf of the Roman Catholics that they might be allowed
to recite the prayers for the dead. Till midnight the solemn chants
continued, the prolonged, sonorous prayers of the Church of Rome, in
commingled Latin and Samoan. Later still, a chief arrived with his
retainers, bringing a precious mat to wrap about the dead.

He too knelt and kissed the hand of Tusitala, and took his place amid
the sleepless watchers. Another arrived with a fine mat, a man of higher
rank, whose incipient consumption had often troubled the Master.

"Talofa Tusitala!" he said as he drew nigh, and took a long, mournful
look at the face he knew so well. When, later on, he was momentarily
required on some business of the morrow, he bowed reverently before
retiring. "Tofa Tusitala!" he said, "Sleep, Tusitala!"

The morning of the 4th of December broke cool and sunny, a beautiful
day, rare at this season of the year. More fine mats were brought, until
the Union Jack lay nigh concealed beneath them. Among the new-comers was
an old Mataafa chief, one of the builders of the "Road of the Loving
Hearts," a man who had spent many days in prison for participation in
the rebellion. "I am only a poor Samoan, and ignorant," said he, as he
crouched beside the body; "others are rich, and can give Tusitala the
parting presents of rich fine mats; I am poor, and can give nothing this
last day he receives his friends. Yet I am not afraid to come and look
the last time in my friend's face, never to see him more till we meet
with God. Behold! Tusitala is dead; Mataafa is also dead to us. These
two great friends have been taken by God. When Mataafa was taken, who
was our support but Tusitala? We were in prison, and he cared for us. We
were sick, and he made us well. We were hungry, and he fed us. The day
was no longer than his kindness. You are great people and full of love.
Yet who am