his people are broken
and dispersed. Let them go and eat grass or wild yams like pigs. I,
Pule-o-Vaitafe, want no needy dependents."

"Thou art a hard man," said my uncle, bending his forehead to the mat on
which he sat.

"And thou art a fool," replied my father; "if thy heart pains thee of
this, why dost thou not give them all that they wish?"

"Because for me, thy brother, to do so, would put shame on thee, for
'tis thy place and thy honour as head of our family to help these people
who have fallen on evil days through warfare," said my uncle sadly.

"Thine then be the place and the honour," said my father scornfully. "I
will not begrudge thee either. Naught will I have to do with broken men.
Farewell."

That was my father's way. That was his hard, hard heart, which knew
neither pity nor remorse. This is how my mother died:

When I was seven days old, she took me, as is customary with a woman of
chiefly rank, to the _fale siva_ (town dance house), where I had to be
shown to the people, who brought fine mats and tappa cloth, and many
other presents. Now my father was filled with anger that my mother had
not borne him a male child, for a male child would have meant richer
presents--not only from his own people, but from towns and villages far
away. So when he saw that instead of such gifts as a new canoe or some
very old, rare mats, or muskets, or such other things as would have
been given were the child a boy, there were but the usual presents for a
girl-child, his lips turned down with scorn, and he muttered a curse. My
mother heard him and the tears flowed down her cheeks.

"It may be that my next child will be a boy," she whispered, and then
she held me up to my father. "See, Pule, though a girl, she hath thy
features, and thou wilt come to love her."

"Tah!" said my father in angry contempt; and without another word he
rose and went away.

Then my mother wept silently over me for a long time, for the shame put
upon her was very great, and not to be endured. So, with some of her
women, she took me to a place called Falema'a, where the cliffs rise up
straight from the sea. Her hair was then oiled and dressed, and then
she made gifts of her rings of gold and tortoise-shell to her women,
and bade them farewell. Then she took me in her arms, and leapt over the
cliff into the sea.

It so happened that half-way down the cliff, which is twelve fathoms
high, there was a boy named Manaia. He was collecting the e