the landlord. Yet you observe he had hung back on the verandah
while Taniera tried his 'prentice hand upon the locks: and even
now, when his true character appeared, the only use he made of the
estate was to leave the clothes of his family drying on the fence.
Taniera was still the friend of the house, still fed the poultry,
still came about us on his daily visits, Francois, during the
remainder of his stay, holding bashfully aloof. And there was
stranger matter. Since Francois had lost the whole load of his
cutter, the half ton of copra, an axe, bowls, knives, and clothes--
since he had in a manner to begin the world again, and his
necessary flour was not yet bought or paid for--I proposed to
advance him what he needed on the rent. To my enduring amazement
he refused, and the reason he gave--if that can be called a reason
which but darkens counsel--was that Taniera was his friend. His
friend, you observe; not his creditor. I inquired into that, and
was assured that Taniera, an exile in a strange isle, might
possibly be in debt himself, but certainly was no man's creditor.

Very early one morning we were awakened by a bustling presence in
the yard, and found our camp had been surprised by a tall, lean old
native lady, dressed in what were obviously widow's weeds. You
could see at a glance she was a notable woman, a housewife, sternly
practical, alive with energy, and with fine possibilities of
temper. Indeed, there was nothing native about her but the skin;
and the type abounds, and is everywhere respected, nearer home. It
did us good to see her scour the grounds, examining the plants and
chickens; watering, feeding, trimming them; taking angry, purpose-
like possession. When she neared the house our sympathy abated;
when she came to the broken chest I wished I were elsewhere. We
had scarce a word in common; but her whole lean body spoke for her