Ralph Stock

“ She was at his side in an instant, clucking with wonder at the brightly coloured picture of fish—fish of all shapes and sizes and colours. They hung there on the white paper as though in some clear pool.
Suddenly a brown finger descended on the page.
"Eo," she cried excitedly, "him, an' him, an' him!"
"A compliment for the lithographer," muttered Sirjohnnie, smiling. "Wilkinson and Pratt are good people."
"An' him, an' him," continued Felisi. "Him no good," she added with a pout, indicating a rather washy representation of sea and coral at the foot of the page. ”

“ The tall man turned and strolled along the beach, stopping now and then to burrow into the wet sand with his toes, and unearth the queer live things that lived there. Every now and then, too, he would fling his arms wide above his head, and let them fall to his sides with a sigh of deep satisfaction. It was as though he had been cramped, and was now rejoicing in his freedom. He was doing just what Felisi had seen her brother do—the one who stole the canoe—when he came out of Levuka gaol into the sunlight. Her heart went out to the tall man with thin legs and big feet. ”

“ Still through her hair Felisi saw him lead the white man to a tiny pool, unwrap the square of oiled silk, and toss in a piece of vine. She heard the distant murmur of Sirjohnnie's voice discoursing gleefully on the result, and saw the white man examining the vine through a glass. The natives and the pink man were already carrying the tin-lined cases and the jars down from the cliff to the launch. Then she became aware that the woman had taken a seat on a rock, and was beckoning to her. ”

“ The water was up to his neck, and he slowly dragged the launch nearer shore. When he had waded waist deep, he backed against the gunwale, and a man in white ducks, with his trousers rolled to the knee, climbed on his shoulders and was carried ashore. Another white man followed in like manner, and they both stood on the wet sand, directing the natives as they landed bundles of all shapes and sizes neatly sewn in green rot -proof canvas. It seemed to Felisi that the entire merchandise of Levuka had been shipped to Luana for some inscrutable reason. ”

“ Sirjohnnie laughed.
"You're right," he said; "that part of it is very, very poor. But, you see, the people who made these pictures have never been here. They don't know, poor devils."
"Poor devils," repeated Felisi, with faithful intonation.
At this point Mandri entered with the coffee. Apparently he saw nothing, and placed the cup on the camp-table and withdrew. But he carried into the kitchen a mental picture of Sir John Truscott, R. Z. S., leaning over a lamp-lit table, his grizzled head close to a cascade of blue-black hair relieved by a flaming hibiscus blossom. ”

“ Sirjohnnie, who seemed to have gone into a trance—he had a knack of doing this, Felisi noticed—turned aside and disappeared into the dim interior. Felisi followed Mandri to the kitchen, and squatted outside, as a woman should. The Tongan naturally treated her as non-existent. Nevertheless, a scullery maid has her uses, and he allowed Felisi to cook the saqa, wrapped in banana leaf, Island fashion. ”

“ Then he dropped the spear and sank into the water, hugging his foot and saying things that Felisi did not quite understand, but which she seemed to remember having heard in Levuka.
She went to him, but he brushed her aside and continued his stalking. "I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it," he kept muttering, as he wallowed round the trap. The determination of the man! "It's the reflection," he told himself aloud, "of course, it's the reflection. When you think a fish is there, it isn't. ”

“ Felisi allowed an agonized pause to ensue. Mandri needed a lesson.
"Stove—him all right," she conceded at last. "By an' by plenty more saqa?"
Sirjohnnie shook his head. "Not for me, I'm afraid. By an' by plenty work."
"Work?"
"Yes. I've got so much work to do, and so little time to do it in, that it almost frightens me."
Felisi found herself on the verge of solving a problem that had always puzzled her.
"Plenty work, plenty time?" she suggested.
"Yes, for you lucky people," sighed Sirjohnnie.
"Why no plenty time for-you-lucky-people?" mimicked Felisi. ”

“ At the fish-trap—a simple affair of volcanic rock boulders built in a square, so that, when the tide receded, fish were left behind—she picked up a spear from the rocks and waded waist-deep, holding it aloft. The tall man watched her, entranced, and Felisi knew it, and took care that the poise of her arms and head and shoulders were all that could be desired. Had she not the reputation of "a darling" to live up to? ”