" he replied. "Kanaka no likee Chineeman.
Him speak bad meatee."

He told me how on one occasion the Lord had saved him from drowning.
With a lay brother of the Catholic Mission, he had been en route to
Vait-hua in a canoe with many natives. There was to be a church feast,
and Lam Kai Oo was carrying six hundred Chile _piastres_ to back his
skill against the natives in gambling; Lam, of course, to operate
the wheel of supposed chance.

The boat capsized in deep water. The lay brother could not swim, but
was lifted to the keel of the upturned boat, while the others clung
to its edges. He prayed for hours, while the others, lifting their
faces above the storming waves, cried hearty amens to his
supplications. Finally the waves washed them into shallow water. The
brother gave earnest thanks for deliverance, but Lam thought that
the same magic should give him back the six hundred pieces of silver
that had gone into the sea.

"My savee plenty Lord helpee you," said he. "Allee samee, him hell
to live when poor. Him Lord catchee Chile money, my givee fitty
dolla churchee."

He sighed despairingly, and fed more cocoa-husks to his make-shift
oven. The shower had passed, moving in a gray curtain down the valley,
and picking my way through the mire of the yard, I followed it in
the sunshine.

My way led now through the cocoanut-groves that day and night make
the island murmurous with their rustling. They are good company,
these lofty, graceful palms, and I had grown to feel a real
affection for them, such as a man has for his dog. Like myself, they
can not live and flourish long unless they see the ocean. Their
habit has more tangible reason than mine; they are dependent on air
and water for life. The greater the column of water that flows daily
up their stems and evaporates from the leaves, the greater the
growth and productivity.

Evaporation being in large measure dependent on free circulation of
air, the best sites for cocoanut plantations are on the seashore,
exposed to the winds. They love the sea and will grow with their
boles dipped at high tide in the salt water.

These trunks, three feet in diameter at the base and tapering
smoothly and perfectly to perhaps twelve inches at the top, are in
reality no more than pipes for conveying the water to the thirsty
fronds. Cut them open, and one finds a vast number of hollow reeds,
held together by a resinous pitch and guarded by a bark both thick
and exceedingly hard. T