e morning the vapor was still there.

"The sons of the murdered priest are in Maui. I will go to them,"
he said, and descending to the shore he entered his canoe alone, with
neither oar nor sail, yet in the dawn he was at Maui, and the cloud
was now plainly seen waving about the great peak of Hanaula. From their
eyrie on the mountain the two young men had seen the approach of Naula,
for his boat shone in the dark with a moon-like radiance. They knew
that it bore some message for them, and when the old man arrived at
Makena landing they were there to meet him. His white beard swept
the earth as he bowed, and they bent low while waiting for him to
speak. "You are the sons of the most worthy priest who was slain by
Hua," he said. "That evil man has expiated his crime, and his bones
lie unburied in the light. The people suffer and die. The punishment
for Hua's crime has been severe and long. Let us join our prayers to
the gods that they may turn to mercy. I am Naula."

The elder of the sons replied, "Great priest, we will gladly pray
with you for our people, but first tell me of my wife. Is she alive?"

The old man wrapped his head in his cloak and put against his forehead
an amulet of stone. After some moments of silence he flung off the
covering and spoke, "She lives, and is well. The gods have cared for
her in the valley back of Hana."

This announcement carried joy to the heart of the questioner, and he
began at once the erection of an altar, the aged priest sprinkling
it with blessed water and placing beside it the phallic symbol of the
trinity. The invocation was over, but no living creature appeared in
the desert to serve as a sacrifice. A rustling was heard among the
dead bushes and the snout of a black hog was thrust out. Before it
could escape they had seized the creature, with a cry of joy, lifted
it to the altar, stabbed it again and again, and its blood flowed
over the stones. Then all bent about it and prayed with fervor. As
they prayed their shadows grew fainter, and the hot wind lulled. A
low rumble was heard in the south. They looked up. The heavens were
darkening. The rain was coming. "Praise the gods, who are merciful
and who receive our sacrifice!" the priests cried. And with that
immolation the days of suffering were over.

Kiha's Trumpet

Waipio, in Hawaii, is claimed by people who live thereabout to be
the loveliest valley on the island. It was a low and marshy stretch
until a great f