in broken English, sang a ditty he had
heard forty years earlier in California, "Shoo-fle-fly-doan-bodder-me."
Apporo, overcome by the rum and the dance, was lying among the
rose-bushes. Many others were flung on the sward, and more rose
again to the dance, singing and shouting and demanding more rum. The
girls came forward to be kissed, as was the custom, and Madame Bapp
drove them away with sharp words.

Soon the hullabaloo became too great for the dignity of the governor.
He gave orders to clear the grounds, and Bauda issued commands from
the veranda while Song and Flag lugged away the drums and drove the
excited mob out of the garden and across the bridge. All in all,
this Sunday was typical of Atuona under the new regime.

After a quiet bath in the pool below my cabin I got my own dinner,
unassisted by Exploding Eggs, and went early to bed to forestall
visitors. The crash of a falling cocoanut awakened me at midnight,
and I saw on my _paepae_ Apporo, Flower, Water, and Chief Kekela
Avaua, asleep. The chief had hung his trousers over the railing, and
was in his _pareu_, his pictured legs showing, while the others lay
naked on my mats. There was no need to disturb them, for it is the
good and honored custom of these hospitable islands to sleep wherever
slumber overtakes one.

The night was fine, the stars looked down through the
breadfruit-trees, and Temetiu, the giant mountain, was dark and
handsome in the blue and gold sky. Two sheep were huddled together
by my trail window, the horses were lying down in the brush, and a
nightingale lilted a gay love song in the cocoanut-palms above the
House of the Golden Bed.

Next morning all Atuona had a tight handkerchief bound over its
forehead. I met twenty men and women with this sign of repentance
upon their brows. Watercress, the chief of Atuona, who guards the
governor's house, was by the roadside.

"You have drunk too much," I remarked, as I spied the rag about his
head.

"Not too much, but a great deal," he rejoined.

"_Faufau_," I said further, which means that it is a bad thing.

"_Hana paopao_" he said sadly. "It is disagreeable to work. One
likes to forget many things."

There was bitterness and sorrow in his tone. His father was a warrior,
under the protection of Toatahu, the god of the chiefs, and led many
a victorious foray when Watercress was a child. The son remembers the
old days and feels deeply the degradation and ruin brought by the
whites up