ars. Perhaps when his schooner next came to Siumu
they would have enough money, etc.

During the day I shot a number of pigeons, and when Sa Laea appeared
soon after sunset we had them cooked and ready. We made a delicious
meal, but before eating the lady offered up the usual evening prayer in
Samoan, and Te-bari the Earless sat with closed eyes like a saint, and
gave forth a sonorous _A-mene!_ when his ladylove ceased.

I left my outlaw friend next morning. Sa Laea came with me, for I had
promised to buy him a pigeon gun (costing ten dollars), a bag of shot,
powder and caps. I fulfilled my promise and the woman bade me farewell
with protestations of gratitude.

A few months later Te-bari and Sa Laea left the island in Captain
Cameron's schooner, the _Manahiki_. I trust they "lived happily ever
afterwards".

CHAPTER XX ~ "THE DANDIEST BOY THAT EVER STOOD UP IN A BOAT"

Nine years had come and gone since I had last seen Nukutavake and its
amiable brown^skinned people, and now as I again stepped on shore and
scanned the faces of those assembled on the beach to meet me, I missed
many that I had loved in the old, bright days when I was trading in the
Paumotus. For Death, in the hideous shape of small-pox, had been busy,
taking the young and strong and passing by the old and feeble.

It was a Sunday, and the little isle was quiet--as quiet as the ocean
of shining silver on which our schooner lay becalmed, eight miles beyond
the foaming surf of the barrier reef.

Teveiva, the old native pastor, was the first one to greet me, and the
tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke to me in his native Tahitian,
bade me welcome, and asked me had I come to sojourn with "we of
Nukutavake, for a little while".

"Would that it were so, old friend. But I have only come on shore for a
few hours, whilst the ship is becalmed--to greet old friends dear to my
heart, and never forgotten since the days I lived among ye, nigh upon a
half-score years ago. But, alas, it grieves me that many are gone."

A low sob came from the people, as they pressed around their friend of
bygone years, some clasping my hands and some pressing their faces to
mine And so, hand in hand, and followed by the people, the old teacher
and I walked slowly along the shady path of drooping palms, and came to
and entered the quiet mission house, through the open windows of which
came the sigh of the surf, and the faint call of sea-birds.

Some women, low-voiced