belfry; and the faithful, who were not very numerous, gathered to
prayers. I was once present: it was the Lord's day, and seven
females and eight males composed the congregation. A woman played
precentor, starting with a longish note; the catechist joined in
upon the second bar; and then the faithful in a body. Some had
printed hymn-books which they followed; some of the rest filled up
with 'eh--eh--eh,' the Paumotuan tol-de-rol. After the hymn, we
had an antiphonal prayer or two; and then Taniera rose from the
front bench, where he had been sitting in his catechist's robes,
passed within the altar-rails, opened his Tahitian Bible, and began
to preach from notes. I understood one word--the name of God; but
the preacher managed his voice with taste, used rare and expressive
gestures, and made a strong impression of sincerity. The plain
service, the vernacular Bible, the hymn-tunes mostly on an English
pattern--'God save the Queen,' I was informed, a special
favourite,--all, save some paper flowers upon the altar, seemed not
merely but austerely Protestant. It is thus the Catholics have met
their low island proselytes half-way.

Taniera had the keys of our house; it was with him I made my
bargain, if that could be called a bargain in which all was
remitted to my generosity; it was he who fed the cats and poultry,
he who came to call and pick a meal with us like an acknowledged
friend; and we long fondly supposed he was our landlord. This
belief was not to bear the test of experience; and, as my chapter
has to relate, no certainty succeeded it.

We passed some days of airless quiet and great heat; shell-
gatherers were warned from the ocean beach, where sunstroke waited
them from ten till four; the highest palm hung motionless, there