f Pere Orens, and could work magic. In his
pocket he carried always a small god, that day and night said
"_Mika! Mika!_" and moved tiny arms around and around a plate of
white metal. This man stood now before the Great Sea Slug, and the
chief paused, while his hungry people came closer that they might
hear what befell.

"Where are you going?" said Pere Orens.

"To Pekia, the High Place, to cook and eat," said Great Sea Slug.
Then for a space Pere Orens remained silent, holding high the
crucifix, and the chief heard from his pocket the voice of the small
god speaking.

"Give to me that small piece of living meat," said Pere Orens then.

"_Me mamai oe_. If it is your pleasure, take it," said Great Sea Slug.
"It is a trifle. We have enough, and there is more in Motopu."

With these words he placed his burden upon the shoulder of the priest,
and heading his band again led them past the mission, over the river
and to the High Place, where all night long the drums beat at the
feasting.

But The Girl Who Lost Her Strength remained in the house of Pere
Orens, who cut her bonds, fed her, and nursed her to strength again.
Baptized and instructed in the religion of her savior, she was
secretly returned to her surviving relatives. There she lived to a
good age, and died four years ago, grateful always to the God that
had preserved her from the oven.

He who spoke was her son, and here at the _kava_ bowl together were
the men of Motopu and the men of Atuona, enemies no longer.

The voice of the Motopu man died away. A ringing came in my ears as
when one puts a seashell to them and hears the drowsy murmur of the
tides. My cigarette fell from my fingers. A sirocco blew upon me, hot,
stifling. Kivi laughed, and dimly I heard his inquiry:

"_Veavea?_ Is it hot?"

"_E, mahanahana_. I am very warm," I struggled to reply.

My voice sounded as that of another. I leaned harder against the
wall and closed my eyes.

"He goes fast," said Broken Plate, gladly.

A peace passing the understanding of the _kava_-ignorant was upon me.
Life was a slumbrous calm; not dull inertia, but a separated activity,
as if the spirit roamed in a garden of beauty, and the body, all
suffering, all feeling past, resigned itself to quietude.

I heard faintly the chants of the men as they began improvising the
after-feasting entertainment. I was perfectly aware of being lifted
by several women to within the house, and of being laid upon mats
that we