nk his. Then
she drank to prosperity in his undertakings, and he drank to the hope
that James Grant would show up and pay her for his washing. James Grant
was a journeymen carpenter who did not always pay his bills and who owed
Maria three dollars.

Both Maria and Martin drank the sour new wine on empty stomachs, and it
went swiftly to their heads. Utterly differentiated creatures that they
were, they were lonely in their misery, and though the misery was tacitly
ignored, it was the bond that drew them together. Maria was amazed to
learn that he had been in the Azores, where she had lived until she was
eleven. She was doubly amazed that he had been in the Hawaiian Islands,
whither she had migrated from the Azores with her people. But her
amazement passed all bounds when he told her he had been on Maui, the
particular island whereon she had attained womanhood and married.
Kahului, where she had first met her husband,--he, Martin, had been there
twice! Yes, she remembered the sugar steamers, and he had been on
them--well, well, it was a small world. And Wailuku! That place, too!
Did he know the head-luna of the plantation? Yes, and had had a couple
of drinks with him.

And so they reminiscenced and drowned their hunger in the raw, sour wine.
To Martin the future did not seem so dim. Success trembled just before
him. He was on the verge of clasping it. Then he studied the deep-lined
face of the toil-worn woman before him, remembered her soups and loaves
of new baking, and felt spring up in him the warmest gratitude and
philanthropy.

"Maria," he exclaimed suddenly. "What would you like to have?"

She looked at him, bepuzzled.

"What would you like to have now, right now, if you could get it?"

"Shoe alla da roun' for da childs--seven pairs da shoe."

"You shall have them," he announced, while she nodded her head gravely.
"But I mean a big wish, something big that you want."

Her eyes sparkled good-naturedly. He was choosing to make fun with her,
Maria, with whom few made fun these days.

"Think hard," he cautioned, just as she was opening her mouth to speak.

"Alla right," she answered. "I thinka da hard. I lika da house, dis
house--all mine, no paya da rent, seven dollar da month."

"You shall have it," he granted, "and in a short time. Now wish the
great wish. Make believe I am God, and I say to you anything you want
you can have. Then you wish that thing, and I listen."

Maria considere