lishment. I have not indulged in tablecloths yet; but
you will put things to rights."

"Tablecloths?" said Eleanor.

"Yes--you have such things lying in wait for you. You have a great deal
to do. And in the first place, you are to find out the good qualities
of these fruits of the land," he said, giving her portions of several
vegetable preparations with which and with fruits the table was filled.

"What is this?" said Eleanor.

"Taro; one of the valuable things with which nature has blessed Fiji.
The natives cultivate it well and carefully. That is yam; and came from
a root five and a half feet long. Eleanor--I do not at all comprehend
how you come to be sitting there!"

It was so strange and new to Eleanor, and Mr. Rhys was such a compound
of things new and things old to her, that a little chance word like
this was enough to make her flutter and change colour. He perceived it,
and bent his attention to amuse her with the matters of the table; and
told her wonders of the natural productions of Fiji. But in the midst
of this Mr. Rhys's hand would come abstracting her tea-cup to fill it
again; and then Eleanor watched while he did it; and he made himself a
little private amusement about getting it sugared right and finding how
she liked it; and Eleanor wondered at him and her tea-cup together, and
stirred her tea in a subdued state of mind.

"One hardly expects to see such a nice little teaspoon in Fiji," she
remarked.

"Aunt Caxton, again," said Mr. Rhys.

"But Mr. Rhys, your Fijians must be remarkable cooks! Or have you
taught them?"

"I have taught nobody in that line."

"Then are they not remarkable for their skill in cookery?"

"As a nation, I think they are; and it is one evidence of their mental
development. They have a great variety of native dishes, some of which,
I believe, are not despicable."

"But these are English dishes."

"Do justice to them, then, like a good Englishwoman."

Eleanor's praise was not undeserved; for the chicken and yam were
excellent, and the sweet potatoe which Mr. Rhys put upon her plate was
roasted very like one that had been in some hot ashes at home. But
everything except the dishes was strange, Mr. Rhys's hand included.
Through the whole length of the house, and of course through the middle
apartment, ran a double row of columns, upholding the roof. If
Eleanor's eye followed them up, there was no ceiling, but the lofty
roof of thatch over her head. Under her foot w