Summary

Ralph Stock South of the Line — Mother-of-Pearl (1922)

It is doubtful if there is anything more beautiful than the scene that confronted him—the indescribable colouring of the shallows merging into the dark blue of deep water, the white ribbon of the barrier reef, with its thundering surf and far-flung spindrift, that floated and danced in miniature rainbows before the sun, and, back of all, the fantastic outline of Moorea. But Ah Fang saw none of these things. They were not the affair of a man of single purpose. Without haste or hesitation he waded into the lagoon, knee, waist, chest deep, minutely examining its floor.
Source: Wikisource

Ralph Stock South of the Line — Mother-of-Pearl (1922)

It is a strange experience to approach one's home as a trespasser. Indeed, the thing is impossible. Miri assured herself of this as the canoe glided silently toward the seaward end of the fish fence. Who has better right of entry than the housewife? She asked herself the question while making fast the canoe, and answered it by peering cautiously through the bamboos.
Dusk had fallen, and there was no light in Ah Fang's room. The place was deserted. Yet Miri dived and swam under water to the beach, and, as she swam, her hands, out of habit, passed over the familiar floor of the lagoon.
Source: Wikisource

Ralph Stock South of the Line — Mother-of-Pearl (1922)

Out of mingled surprise and curiosity, Miri waited. Ah Fang ambled up the beach and into the store, returning shortly with three labelled tins that she recognized from afar. They were salmon, that doubtful delicacy for which, for some reason, your South Sea Islander will barter his immortal soul.
"There is more," he told her, placing the tins in her outstretched hands, "if you do not steal the oysters. You swim well," he added judicially. "Where do you live?"
Miri nodded up the beach.
Source: Wikisource

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