w, members of two of the First Families in America, and only came to
the South Seas to wear out our old clothes--'

'Shut up,' said Devine; 'we don't want to hear anything about the First
American families; this is an English Christmas, with full-blooded South
Sea trimmings. Off you go, you women, and start on the cake.'

So Charley de Buis 'shut up,' and then the women, headed by Sera and
Mary Devine, trooped off to the cook-house to beat up eggs for the cake,
and left us to ourselves. When it drew near midnight they returned, and
Peter Huysmans arose, and, twisting his grizzled moustaches, said,--

'Mine boys, will you led me dell you dot now is coming der morn ven
Jesus Christ vos born? And vill you blease, Mary Devine, dell dose
natives outside to stop those damdt drums vile I speaks? Und come here
you, MacBride, mit your red het, und you, Ludwig Wolfen, and you Tom
Devine, und you Charley de Buis, you wicked damdt devil, und you, Tom
Denison, you saucy Australian boy, mit your curlt moustache and your
svell vite tuck suit; und led us join our hands together, and agree
to have no more quarrellings und no more angry vorts. For vy should ve
quarrel, as our good friendt says, over dirty dollars, ven dere is room
enough for us all on dis lagoon to get a decent livings? Und den ve
should try und remember dot ve, none of us, is going to live for
ever, and ven ve is dead, ve is dead a damdt long time. But now, mine
friendts, I vill say no more, vor I am dry; so here's to all our good
healths, and let us bromise one another not to haf no more angry vorts.'

And so we all gathered around the big table, and, grasping each other's
hands, raised our glasses and drank together without speaking, for there
was something--we knew not what--that lay behind Dutch Peter's
little speech which made us _think_. Presently, when a big and gaudy
German-made cuckoo clock in the room struck twelve, even reckless
Charley de Buis forgot his old joke about Tom Denison's 'damned old
squawking British duck,' as he called the little painted bird, and we
all went outside, and sat smoking our pipes on the wide verandah, and
watching the flashing torchlights of the fishing canoes as they paddled
slowly to and fro over the smooth waters of the sleeping lagoon. Then,
almost ere we knew it, the quick red sun had turned the long, black line
of palms on Karolyne to purple, and then to shining green, and Christmas
Day had come.

*