as I stood on my _paepae_ listening to it.
At times I thought it a fancy, again I heard it and knew that I
heard it. At last, wrapping a _pareu_ about me, I went down my trail
to the valley road. The sound was drowned here by the splashing
chuckle of the stream, but as I stood undecided in the pool of
darkness beneath a dripping banana I saw a dark figure slip silently
past me, going up toward the High Place. It was followed by another,
moving through the night like a denser shadow. I went back to my
cabin, scouted my urgent desire to shut and barricade the door, and
went to bed. After a long time I slept.

When I awoke next morning Exploding Eggs was preparing my breakfast
as usual, the sunlight streamed over breadfruit and palm, and the
night seemed a dream. But there were rumors in the village of a
strange dance held by the inhabitants of Nuka-hiva, on another island,
in celebration of the harvest of the _mei_. Weird observances were
hinted, rites participated in only by men who danced stark naked,
praising the old gods.

This was a custom of the old days, said Great Fern, with those
too-innocent eyes opened artlessly upon me. It has ever been the
ceremony of Thanks-giving to the ancient gods, for a bountiful
harvest, a propitiation, and a begging of their continued favor. As
for him, he was a Christian. Such rites were held no more in Atuona.

I asked no more questions. Thanks-giving to an omnipotent ruler for
the fruits of the harvest season is almost universal. We have put in
a proclamation and in church services and the slaughter of turkeys
what these children do in dancing, as did Saul of old.

The season's task completed, Great Fern and Apporo sat back well
content, having provided excellently for the future. Certain of
their neighbors, however, filled with ambition and spurred on by the
fact that there was plenty of _mei_ for all with no suspicion of
greediness incurred by excessive possessions, continued to work
until they had filled three pits. These men were regarded with
admiration and some envy, having gained great honor. "He has three
_popoi_ pits," they said, as we would speak of a man who owned a
superb jewel or a Velasquez.

[Illustration: A volunteer cocoanut grove, with trees of all ages]

[Illustration: Climbing for cocoanuts]

The grated breadfruit in the holes was called _ma_, and bore the
same relation to _popoi_ as dough bears to bread. When the _ma_ was
sufficiently soured Apporo ope