and thunder? Very well, I am one of them.
If ever you harm a hair of our heads, those sailing gods will before long
send one of their mighty fire-canoes, and bring to bear upon your island
their thunder and lightning, and destroy your huts, and punish you for
the wrong you have ventured to do us. So now you know. Remember that you
act exactly as I tell you."

Tu-Kila-Kila was evidently overawed by the white man's resolute voice and
manner. He had heard before of the sailing gods (as the Polynesians of
the old school still call the Europeans); and though but one or two stray
individuals among them had ever reached his remote island (mostly as
castaways), he was quite well enough acquainted with their might and
power to be deeply impressed by Felix's exhortation. So he tried to
temporize. "Very well," he made answer, with his jauntiest air, assuming
a tone of friendly good-fellowship toward his brother-god. "I will bear
it in mind. I will try to humor you. While your time lasts, no man shall
hurt you. But if I promise you that, you must do a good turn for me
instead. You must come out before the people and give me a new fire from
the sun, that you carry in a shining box about with you. The King of Fire
has allowed his sacred flame to go out in deference to your flood; for
last night, you know, you came down heavily. Never in my life have I
known you come down heavier. The King of Fire acknowledges himself
beaten. So give us light now before the people, that they may know we are
gods, and may fear to disobey us."

"Only on one condition," Felix answered, sternly; for he felt he had
Tu-Kila-Kila more or less in his power now, and that he could drive a
bargain with him. Why, he wasn't sure; but he saw Tu-Kila-Kila attached a
profound importance to having the sacred fire relighted, as he thought,
direct from heaven.

"What condition is that?" Tu-Kila-Kila asked, glancing about him
suspiciously.

"Why, that you give up in future human sacrifices."

Tu-Kila-Kila gave a start. Then he reflected for a moment. Evidently, the
condition seemed to him a very hard one. "Do you want all the victims for
yourself and her, then?" he asked, with a casual nod aside toward Muriel.

Felix drew back, with horror depicted on every line of his face. "Heaven
forbid!" he answered, fervently. "We want no bloodshed, no human victims.
We ask you to give up these horrid practices, because they shock and
revolt us. If you would have your fire li