_palasi_."

"Yes," I said, "you both fell off. That was very funny."

"_Palasi_!" he reiterated.

But here I looked doubtful. Pola repeated his word several times as
though the very sound ought to convey some idea to my bemuddled brain,
and then a bright idea struck him. I heard his bare feet pattering
swiftly down the stairs. He came flying back, still laughing, and laid a
heavy dictionary in my lap. I hastily turned the leaves, Pola questing
in each one like an excited little dog, till I found the definition of
his word, "to fall squash like a ripe fruit on the ground."

"_Palasi_!" he cried, triumphantly, when he saw I understood, making a
gesture downward with both hands, the while laughing heartily. "We both
fell off _palasi_!"

It was through Pola that I learned all the news of Tanugamanono. He
would curl up on the floor at my feet as I sat in my room sewing, and
pour forth an endless stream of village gossip. How Mata, the native
parson, had whipped his daughter for going to a picnic on Sunday and
drinking a glass of beer.

"Her father went whack! whack!" Pola illustrated the scene with gusto,
"and Maua cried, ah! ah! But the village says Mata is right, for we must
not let the white man's evil come near us."

"Evil?" I said; "what evil?"

"Drink," said Pola, solemnly.

Then he told how "the ladies of Tanugamanono" bought a pig of Mr. B., a
trader, each contributing a dollar until forty dollars were collected.
There was to be a grand feast among the ladies on account of the
choosing of a maid or _taupo_, the young girl who represents the village
on all state occasions. When the pig came it turned out to be an old
boar, so tough and rank it could not be eaten. The ladies were much
ashamed before their guests, and asked the white man for another pig,
but he only laughed at them. He had their money, so he did not care,
"That was very, very bad of him," I exclaimed, indignantly.

"It is the way of white people," said Pola, philosophically.

It was through my little chief that we learned of a bit of fine
hospitality. It seems that pigs were scarce in the village, so each
house-chief pledged himself to refrain from killing one of them for six
months. Any one breaking this rule agreed to give over his house to be
looted by the village.

Pola came up rather late one morning, and told me, hilariously, of the
fun they had had looting Tupuola's house.

"But Tupuola is a friend of ours," I said. "I don't like