shed, and before my eyes rose a vision of my
_paepae_ among the breadfruit- and cocoanut-trees, the ring of
squatting dusky figures in flickering sunlit leaf-shade, Kake in her
red tunic with the babe at her breast, Exploding Eggs standing by
with a half-eaten cocoanut, and the many dark eyes in their circles
of ink fixed upon the shriveled face of the reformed cannibal whose
head ached with the mysteries of the white man's religion.

None too soon for me, the talk turned about history, the tales of
which were confused in my guests' minds with those of the saints.
Great Fern insisted that if the English roasted Joan of Arc they ate
her, because no man would apply live coals, which pain exceedingly,
to any living person, and fire was never placed upon a human body
save to cook it for consumption. This theory seemed reasonable to
most of the listeners, for since such cruelty as the Marquesans
practiced in their native state was thoughtless and never intentional,
the idea of torture was incomprehensible to their simple minds.

Malicious Gossip, a comely savage of twenty-five with false-coffee
leaves in her hair, declared, however, that the governor had told
her the English roasted Joan alive because she was a heretic. The
statement was received with startled protests by those present who
had themselves incurred that charge when they deserted Catholicism
for Protestantism some time earlier.

"Exploding Eggs," said I hastily, "make tea for all." Every shade
vanished from shining eyes when I produced the bottle of rum and
added a spoonful of flavor to each brimming shellful. All perplexing
questions were forgotten, and simple social pleasure reigned again
on my _paepae_, while Great Fern explained to all his idea of the
Christian devil.

The Marquesan deity of darkness was Po, a vague and elemental spirit.
But the _kuhane anera maaa_ of the new religion had definite and
fearful attributes explained by the priests. So Great Fern conceived
him as a kind of cross between a man and a boar, with a tail like
that of a shark, running through the forests with a bunch of lighted
candlenuts and setting fire to the houses of the wicked.

And the wicked? Morals as we know them had nothing to do with their
sin in his mind. The wicked were the unkind, those who were cruel to
children, wives who made bad _popoi_, and whites with rum privileges
who forgot hospitality.

Non-Christians may grin at the efforts of missionaries among heath