babe was passed down,
and then the presents. Then the people were told to shove off. A few
hours later a breeze sprang up, and the schooner stood away to the
westward. That was how the youngster came here."

"I wonder what had occurred?"

"A tragedy of some sort--piracy and murder most likely. One of the
natives named Rahili who went out to the vessel, was an ex-sailor, who
spoke and could also read and write English well, and he noticed that
although the schooner was much weather-worn as if she had been a long
while at sea, there was a newly-painted name on her stern--_Meta_.
That in itself was suspicious. I sent an account of the affair to the
colonial papers, but nothing was known of any vessel named the _Meta_.
Since then the child had lived first with one family, and then another.
As I have said, she is extremely intelligent, but has a curiously
independent spirit--'refractory' my wife calls it--and does not
associate with the other native girls. One day, not long ago, she got
into serious trouble through her temper getting the better of her.
Lisa, my native assistant's daughter is, as I daresay you know, a very
conceited, domineering young lady, and puts on very grand airs--all
these native teachers and their wives and daughters are alike with
regard to the 'side' they put on--and my wife has made so much of her
that the girl has become a perfect female prig. Well, it seems that
Pautoe refused to attend my wife's sewing class (which Lisa bosses)
saying that she was going out on the reef to get crayfish. Thereupon
Lisa called her a _laakau tafea_ (a log of wood that had drifted on
shore) and Pautoe, resenting the insult and the jeers and laughter
of the other children, seized Mademoiselle Lisa by the hair, tore her
blouse off her and called her 'a fat-faced, pig-eyed monster'."

Marsh laughed. "Description terse, but correct."

"The deacons expelled her from school, and ordered her a whipping, but
the chief and I interfered, and stopped it."

The trader nodded approval. "Of course you did, Copley; just what
any one who knows you would expect you to do. But although I am quite
willing to give the child a home, I can't be a schoolmaster to her."

"Of course not. You are doing more than any other man would do for her."

Twelve months had passed, and Marsh had never had reason to regret his
kindness to the orphan. To him she was wonderfully gentle and obedient,
and from the very first had acceded to his wish to