g him for his kindness, hurried on board and
told his story to Captain Heselton.

Two days afterwards the _Maori Maid_ was sailing slowly out through
Mulifanua passage. Flemming, with the skipper beside him, was standing
on the poop, looking for'ard.

"Tell them they can come up on deck now, boatswain," he cried, "we are a
good mile off the land."

And then the three of the four men from whom he and his brother had
parted ten years before rushed up from the hold, knelt at his feet, and
laughing and sobbing like children, threw their brown arms around his
legs.

Binoke rose, and stretching out his huge right arm towards the rising
sun, turned his black eyes on "the boy" he so loved.

"Is it to the east we sail, Papu?"

"Ay, to the east, Binoke, far, far to the east, to a fair, fair land
with green mountains and falling streams. And there awaits us my father
and mother, and my brother, and Medora. And they will be well content
with me, for never hast thou and Nobal been forgotten."

"FLASH HARRY" OF SAVAIT

Nearly thirty years ago, when the late King Malietoa of Samoa was
quietly arming his own adherents and conciliating his rebel chiefs in
order to combine against the persistent encroachments of the Germans,
I was running a small trading cutter between Upolu and Savaii, the two
principal islands of the group.

One day I arrived in Apia Harbour with a cargo of yams which I was
selling to an American man-of-war, the _Resacca_. I went alongside at
once, had the yams weighed and received my money from the paymaster,
and then went ashore for a bathe in the Vaisigago River, a lovely little
stream which, taking its rise in the mountains, debouches into Apia
Harbour. Here I was joined by an old friend, Captain Hamilton, the local
pilot, who, stripping off his clothes, plunged into the water beside me.

As we were laughing and chatting and thoroughly enjoying ourselves,
a party of natives--young men and boys--emerged from the trees on the
opposite bank, and casting off their scanty garments, boisterously
entered the water and began disporting themselves, and then to my
surprise I saw that their leader was a white man, tattoed in every
respect, like a Samoan. He appeared to be about thirty years of age, was
clean-shaven, and had bright red hair.

"Who is that fellow?" I inquired.

"One of the biggest scoundrels in the Pacific," replied my companion,
"'Flash Harry' from Savaii. He deserted from either the _Br