his mind seemed to grow clearer.

"You were right, Mac," he said presently. "You warned me."

"I wish to God I'd come with you."

"You're a good chap, Mac, only you don't drink."

There was another long silence, and it was clear that Walker was
sinking. There was an internal haemorrhage and even Mackintosh in his
ignorance could not fail to see that his chief had but an hour or two to
live. He stood by the side of the bed stock still. For half an hour
perhaps Walker lay with his eyes closed, then he opened them.

"They'll give you my job," he said, slowly. "Last time I was in Apia I
told them you were all right. Finish my road. I want to think that'll be
done. All round the island."

"I don't want your job. You'll get all right."

Walker shook his head wearily.

"I've had my day. Treat them fairly, that's the great thing. They're
children. You must always remember that. You must be firm with them, but
you must be kind. And you must be just. I've never made a bob out of
them. I haven't saved a hundred pounds in twenty years. The road's the
great thing. Get the road finished."

Something very like a sob was wrung from Mackintosh.

"You're a good fellow, Mac. I always liked you."

He closed his eyes, and Mackintosh thought that he would never open them
again. His mouth was so dry that he had to get himself something to
drink. The Chinese cook silently put a chair for him. He sat down by the
side of the bed and waited. He did not know how long a time passed. The
night was endless. Suddenly one of the men sitting there broke into
uncontrollable sobbing, loudly, like a child, and Mackintosh grew aware
that the room was crowded by this time with natives. They sat all over
the floor on their haunches, men and women, staring at the bed.

"What are all these people doing here?" said Mackintosh. "They've got no
right. Turn them out, turn them out, all of them."

His words seemed to rouse Walker, for he opened his eyes once more, and
now they were all misty. He wanted to speak, but he was so weak that
Mackintosh had to strain his ears to catch what he said.

"Let them stay. They're my children. They ought to be here."

Mackintosh turned to the natives.

"Stay where you are. He wants you. But be silent."

A faint smile came over the old man's white face.

"Come nearer," he said.

Mackintosh bent over him. His eyes were closed and the words he said
were like a wind sighing through the fronds of the coconut trees