color to a picture that
struck me at once as bizarre and memorable.

The horse had passed her, and turning about in the saddle Orivie
replied to her greeting, while I added a courteous "_Kaoha!_" She
looked at me with extraordinary attention, which I ascribed to my
white ducks and traveling cap, while she asked who I was. Orivie
replied that I was a stranger on my way over the mountains. She
advanced into the main trail then, letting slip from her shoulders a
weight of packages, tea, and other groceries, and suddenly embraced
me, smelling my face and picking me up in a bear hug that, startled
as I was, nearly choked me.

"Take care!" cried Orivie, in a tone between alarm and amusement. I
backed hastily away, and sought to take refuge beside a boulder, but
she vaulted after me, and seizing me again, resumed her passionate
attack.

"She is a woman of the mountains! She will take you away to her
_paepae_!" my excited guide yelled warningly.

That was her intention. There was no doubt about it. She seized me
by the arm and tried to drag me away from the boulder to which I
clung. For several moments I was engaged in a struggle more sincere
than chivalrous on my part and ardently demonstrative on hers. But
as I absolutely would not accede to her desire to give me a home in
the hills, she was forced to give up hope after a final embrace,
which I ended rudely, but scientifically. Rising to her feet again,
she picked up her burden, which must have weighed fully a hundred
pounds, and went her way.

"She is a _hinenao pu_," said Orivie. That means literally a coquette
without reason. I did not seek for double meaning in the remark, but
expressed my opinion of all _hinenaos_ as I replaced my cap and
readjusted my garments.

"These women of the heights are all like that," said my guide.
"They have no sense and no shame. If they see a stranger near their
home, they will seize him, as men do women. If they are in the mood,
they will not take no for an answer. It has always been their custom,
as that of the hill men capturing the valley women. It is shameful,
but it has never changed. She would give you food and treat you with
kindness as a man does his bride. You know, in the old days the
strong women had more than one husband; sometimes four or five, and
they chose them in this way. If you were nearer where Tepu lives,
she would make you a prisoner. They have often done that."

"Do we go near her home?" said I.

"No; we