, and Serapion having blessed the
sea and the shore, they landed right joyfully. Drawing the ship high
on the beach, they chose a little grove of palm-trees beside a shallow
stream for their church and cloister; but they had not been long in
that spot before they saw the islanders gliding through the wood and
peering out at them in great amaze. Serapion went forth to them,
smiling and beckoning them to approach, but they fled and would not
abide his coming. So Serapion returned, and the Sea-farers made
themselves such a home as they might, and rested a little from their
toiling.

When the day had come to evening, and the brethren were chanting
vespers, the islanders returned, many hundreds of them, men and women,
dusky of skin but comely and bright-eyed, and for all their raiment
they wore garlands of blossoms and girdles of woven leaves. Close they
came to the Sea-farers, and gazed at them, and the boldest touched
them, as though to assure themselves that these were living mortals
like unto themselves. But when they saw the little chorister, with his
fair white face and childish blue eyes and sunny hair, they turned to
each other with exclamations and uncouth gestures of pleasure and
wonderment. Then they hurried away and brought strange and delightful
fruit--berries, and fruit in a skin yellow and curved like a sickle
moon, and big nuts full of water sweet and cool, and these they laid
before the lad. Wreaths of flowers, too, they wove for him, and put
them on his head and about his neck, as though they were rejoiced to
see him and could not make too much of him. The brethren were light of
heart that they had come to an isle so gracious and a folk so simple
and loving.

Sleep, sweet as dews of Paradise, fell upon their weariness that night,
and they rose refreshed and glad for matins, which they chanted by the
light of large and radiant stars flashing down through the palms. What
happened that day, however, the Sea-farers did not wholly understand
till long afterwards, when they had learned the speech of the people;
but out of their later knowledge I shall here make it plain.

Now in the olden time the mighty mountain of this island had been a
burning mountain, and even now, in a huge craggy cup beneath the
glittering peak, there was a vast well of fire and molten rock; and the
peak and well were the lair of an evil spirit so strong and terrible
that each year the island folk gave him a child to appease hi