aloud Kinglake's Charge of the Light Brigade,
and we had just been all seized by the horses aligning with Lord George
Paget, when a figure appeared on the verandah; a little, slim, small
figure of a lad, with blond (_i.e._ limed) hair, a propitiatory smile,
and a nose that alone of all his features grew pale with anxiety. "I
come here stop," was about the outside of his English; and I began at
once to guess that he was a runaway labourer,[36] and that the
bush-knife in his hand was stolen. It proved he had a mate, who had
lacked his courage, and was hidden down the road; they had both made up
their minds to run away, and had "come here stop." I could not turn out
the poor rogues, one of whom showed me marks on his back, into the
drenching forest; I could not reason with them, for they had not enough
English, and not one of our boys spoke their tongue; so I bade them feed
and sleep here to-night, and to-morrow I must do what the Lord shall bid
me.

Near dinner time, I was told that a friend of Lafaele's had found human
remains in my bush. After dinner, a figure was seen skulking across
towards the waterfall, which produced from the verandah a shout, in my
most stentorian tones: "_O ai le ingoa?_" literally "Who the name?"
which serves here for "What's your business?" as well. It proved to be
Lafaele's friend; I bade a kitchen boy, Lauilo, go with him to see the
spot, for though it had ceased raining, the whole island ran and
dripped. Lauilo was willing enough, but the friend of the archangel
demurred; he had too much business; he had no time. "All right," I said,
"you too much frightened, I go along," which of course produced the
usual shout of delight from all those who did not require to go. I got
into my Saranac snow boots; Lauilo got a cutlass; Mary Carter, our
Sydney maid, joined the party for a lark, and off we set. I tell you our
guide kept us moving; for the dusk fell swift. Our woods have an
infamous reputation at the best, and our errand (to say the least of it)
was grisly. At last they found the remains; they were old, which was
all I cared to be sure of; it seemed a strangely small "pickle-banes" to
stand for a big, flourishing, buck-islander, and their situation in the
darkening and dripping bush was melancholy. All at once, I found there
was a second skull, with a bullet-hole I could have stuck my two thumbs
in--say anybody else's one thumb. My Samoans said it could not be, there
were not enough bones; I p