and Tauilo set off on foot for Malie. Tauilo was about the
size of both of us put together and a piece over; she used us
like a mouse with children. I had started barefoot; Belle
had soon to pull off her gala shoes and stockings; the mud
was as deep as to our knees, and so slippery that (moving, as
we did, in Indian file, between dense scratching tufts of
sensitive) Belle and I had to take hands to support each
other, and Tauilo was steadying Belle from the rear. You can
conceive we were got up to kill, Belle in an embroidered
white dress and white hat, I in a suit of Bedford cords hot
from the Sydney tailors; and conceive us, below, ink-black to
the knees with adhesive clay, and above, streaming with heat.
I suppose it was better than three miles, but at last we made
the end of Malie. I asked if we could find no water to wash
our feet; and our nursemaid guided us to a pool. We sat down
on the pool side, and our nursemaid washed our feet and legs
for us - ladies first, I suppose out of a sudden respect to
the insane European fancies: such a luxury as you can scarce
imagine. I felt a new man after it. But before we got to
the King's house we were sadly muddied once more. It was 1
P.M. when we arrived, the canoe having beaten us by about
five minutes, so we made fair time over our bog-holes.

But the war dances were over, and we came in time to see only
the tail end (some two hours) of the food presentation. In
Mataafa's house three chairs were set for us covered with
fine mats. Of course, a native house without the blinds down
is like a verandah. All the green in front was surrounded
with sheds, some of flapping canvas, some of green palm
boughs, where (in three sides of a huge oblong) the natives