"There is nothing in it," said the missionary.

There was a bay upon that island, a very fair bay to look upon; but, by
the native saying, it was death to bathe there. "There is nothing in
that," said the missionary; and he came to the bay, and went swimming.
Presently an eddy took him and bore him towards the reef. "Oho!" thought
the missionary, "it seems there is something in it after all." And he
swam the harder, but the eddy carried him away. "I do not care about
this eddy," said the missionary; and even as he said it, he was aware of
a house raised on piles above the sea; it was built of yellow reeds, one
reed joined with another, and the whole bound with black sinnet; a ladder
led to the door, and all about the house hung calabashes. He had never
seen such a house, nor yet such calabashes; and the eddy set for the
ladder. "This is singular," said the missionary, "but there can be
nothing in it." And he laid hold of the ladder and went up. It was a
fine house; but there was no man there; and when the missionary looked
back he saw no island, only the heaving of the sea. "It is strange about
the island," said the missionary, "but who's afraid? my stories are the
true ones." And he laid hold of a calabash, for he was one that loved
curiosities. Now he had no sooner laid hand upon the calabash than that
which he handled, and that which he saw and stood on, burst like a bubble
and was gone; and night closed upon him, and the waters, and the meshes
of the net; and he wallowed there like a fish.

"A body would think there was something in this," said the missionary.
"But if these tales are true, I wonder what about my tales!"

Now the flaming of Akaanga's torch drew near in the night; and the
misshapen hands groped in the meshes of the net; and they took the
missionary between the finger and the thumb, and bore him dripping in the
night and silence to the place of the ovens of Miru. And there was Miru,
ruddy in the glow of the ovens; and there sat her four daughters, and
made the kava of the dead; and there sat the comers out of the islands of
the living, dripping and lamenting.

This was a dread place to reach for any of the sons of men. But of all
who ever came there, the missionary was the most concerned; and, to make
things worse, the person next him was a convert of his own.

"Aha," said the convert, "so you are here like your neighbours? And how
about all your stories?"

"It seems," said the mi