had the house to
ourselves. In the middle of the night we were awakened by the sound of a
man talking in through the open window of our room. We both thought for
a moment that it was our persecutor of the morning who had followed us
as he had threatened, but it proved to be a native from the head of the
valley who wanted to see Kekoa. Miss P---- directed him to the grass hut
where our host slept, and he went away, and we were not disturbed again.
Next morning we had breakfast like the supper, and asked for our horses.
Kekoa and his wife begged us to stay longer, but we could not, and
parted from them with much regret. We afterward sent them some large
photographs of scenes in Honolulu, and received an affectionate message
from them in return. I look back to Kahana as a sort of Happy Valley,
and dream sometimes of going back and seeing again its beautiful
pale-green bay, its glittering blue sea, its grand mountain-walls
clothed in richest verdure, and renewing my acquaintance with its
kind-hearted people. Several natives gathered to say good-bye, and two
of them rode with us out of the valley and saw us fairly on our way.

We rode past cane-plantations fenced with palm-tree trunks or hedged
with huge prickly pear; past thickets of wild indigo and castor bean;
through guava-jungles, where we pulled and ate the ripe fruit, yellow
outside and pink within; past large fish-ponds that had been constructed
for the chiefs in former days; past rice-fields where Chinese were
scaring away the birds; past threshing-floors where Chinese were
threshing rice; past _kamani_ trees (from Tahiti) that looked like
umbrellas slanting upward; past a flock of mina-birds brought from
Australia; past aloe-plants and vast thickets of red and yellow lantana
in blossom, reaching as high as our horses' necks.

We dismounted in front of a little grass hut where we heard the sound of
a tappa-pounder, and went to the door. An old native woman, with her
arms tattooed with India-ink, was sitting on a mat spread on the ground,
with a sheet of moist red tappa lying over a beam placed on the ground
in front of her, and a four-sided mallet in her hand. Beside her sat a
young half-white girl with a large tortoise-shell comb in her hair and a
fat little dog in her arms. We asked if we could come in and see the
tappa. The old woman said "Yes," and displayed it with some pride. She
was making it to give to Queen Emma, hence the pains she was taking with
the co