hich
admitted light and air in the daytime, and wind and rain in bad weather,
was a kind of frieze, or coping, of some deep blue material. {30} All
along the sides of the hall ran carved seats, covered with pretty light
embroidered cloths, not very different from modern Oriental fabrics. The
carpets and rugs were precisely like those of India and Persia, and I
supposed that they must have been obtained through commerce. But I
afterwards learned that they were, beyond doubt, of native manufacture.

At the further end of the room was a kind of platform, or dais, on which
tables were set with fruit and wine. But much more curious than the
furniture of the hall was the group of women sitting by the fire in the
centre. There sat in two rows some twenty girls, all busily weaving, and
throwing the shuttle from hand to hand, laughing and chattering in low
voices. In the midst of them, on a high chair of cedar-wood, decorated
with ivory, and with an ivory footstool, sat a person whom, in a
civilized country, one must have looked on with respect as a lady of high
rank. She, like her husband the chief, had a golden circlet twisted in
her hair, which was still brown and copious, and she wore an appearance
of command.

At her feet, on a stool, reclined a girl who was, I must confess, of
singular beauty. Doto had long fair hair, a feature most unusual among
these natives. She had blue eyes, and an appearance of singular
innocence and frankness. She was, at the moment, embroidering a piece of
work intended, as I afterwards learned with deep pain, for the covering
of one of their idols, to whose service the benighted young woman was
devoted. Often in after days, I saw Doto stooping above her embroidery
and deftly interweaving the green and golden threads into the patterns of
beasts and flowers. Often my heart went out to this poor child of pagan
tribe, and I even pleased myself with the hope that some day, a reclaimed
and enlightened character, she might employ her skill in embroidering
slippers and braces for a humble vessel. I seemed to see her, a helpmate
meet for me, holding Mothers' Meetings, playing hymn-tunes on the lyre,
or the double pipes, the native instruments, and, above all, winning the
islanders from their cruel and abominable custom of exposing their infant
children on the mountains. How differently have all things been
arranged.

But I am wandering from my story. When we reached the group by the
fires