oughly-built store. It
was well on towards midnight when he had left Safune and sailed round
to Etheridge's, a distance of twelve or fifteen miles, and as his
boat touched the sand the first streaks of dawn were changing the dead
whiteness of the beach into a dull grey--soon to brighten into a creamy
yellow as the sun pierced the heavy land-mist.

A native or two, wrapped from head to foot in the long _lava lava_ of
white calico, passed him as he followed the windings of the track to
Etheridge's, but gave him no sign of greeting. Had he been any one of
the few other white men living on Savaii the dark men would have stopped
him and, native-like, inquired the reason of his early visit to
their town. But they knew Lawson too well. _Mataaitu_ they called
him--devil-faced. And in this they were not far wrong, for Lawson,
with his dark olive skin, jet black beard, and eyes that belied the
ever-smiling lips, was not a man whom people would be unanimous in
trusting.

The natives knew him better than did his few white acquaintances in
Samoa, for here, among them, the mask that hid his inner nature from
his compeers was sometimes put aside, though never thrown away. But
Etheridge, the hot-blooded young Englishman and friend of six months'
standing, thought and spoke of him as "the best fellow in the world."

Etheridge had been taking stock, and the wearisome work had paled his
usually florid features. His face flushed with pleasure at Lawson's
quiet voice:--

"Hard at it, Etheridge? I don't know which looks the paler--you or
Lalia. Why on earth didn't you send for me sooner? Any one would think
you were some poor devil of a fellow trading for the Dutchmen instead of
being an independent man. Now, I'm hungry and want breakfast--that is,
if Lalia isn't too tired to get it," and he looked compassionately at
Etheridge's young half-caste wife, sister to his own.

"I'm not tired," said the girl, quietly. "I've had easy tasks--counting
packets of fish-hooks, grosses of cotton, and things like that. Billy
wouldn't let me help him with the prints and heavy things," and with
the faintest shadow of a smile on her lips she passed through into the
sitting-room and thence outside to the little thatched cook-house a few
yards away. With ardent infatuation Etheridge rested his blue eyes on
the white-robed, slender figure as she stood at the door and watched the
Niue cook light his fire for an early cup of coffee--the first overture
to bre