dwindled into village bogies; so to-day, the theological Highlander
sneaks from under the eye of the Free Church divine to lay an
offering by a sacred well.

I try to deal with the whole matter here because of a particular
quality in Paumotuan superstitions. It is true I heard them told
by a man with a genius for such narrations. Close about our
evening lamp, within sound of the island surf, we hung on his
words, thrilling. The reader, in far other scenes, must listen
close for the faint echo.

This bundle of weird stories sprang from the burial and the woman's
selfish conjuration. I was dissatisfied with what I heard, harped
upon questions, and struck at last this vein of metal. It is from
sundown to about four in the morning that the kinsfolk camp upon
the grave; and these are the hours of the spirits' wanderings. At
any time of the night--it may be earlier, it may be later--a sound
is to be heard below, which is the noise of his liberation; at four
sharp, another and a louder marks the instant of the re-
imprisonment; between-whiles, he goes his malignant rounds. 'Did
you ever see an evil spirit?' was once asked of a Paumotuan.
'Once.' 'Under what form?' 'It was in the form of a crane.' 'And
how did you know that crane to be a spirit?' was asked. 'I will
tell you,' he answered; and this was the purport of his
inconclusive narrative. His father had been dead nearly a
fortnight; others had wearied of the watch; and as the sun was
setting, he found himself by the grave alone. It was not yet dark,
rather the hour of the afterglow, when he was aware of a snow-white
crane upon the coral mound; presently more cranes came, some white,
some black; then the cranes vanished, and he saw in their place a