“Nice eggs and good cheap,” says the old woman.
“Yes, very good,” I mutter.
“Good-morning, Aloha! Miss Waylao,” I say jokingly through the door chink as I spy Benbow’s daughter.
No answer comes. But as I stroll away I look back and just catch a glimpse of the girl’s face as she gazes after me through the little lattice window. I wave my hand, and she responds with a smile.
It seems a romantic isle to me as I stroll along. The very trees bend over me like wise old friends, wailing the lore of ages as the winds creep in from the empurpled seas. The exotic odours of forest flowers intoxicate my senses; they seem bright, living eyes of woods as they dance to the zephyrs. The very tinkle-tinkle of the stealing stream at my feet seems some wonderful song of sentient Nature as it ripples its accompaniment to the “Wai-le woo! wai-le woo! willy O!” of the mano alta (morning nightingale) as I fade into the forest shadows.
CHAPTER IV
Water-Nymphs—Ranjo’s Bath and Problem—The Old Hulk—Its Tenants—My Birthday—Shellback Accommodation—Washing Day
A DAY or so after the events of the preceding chapter I became chummy with the inhabitants of the beach. I had seen them before, but had kept slightly aloof. Finding me a musical vagabond at heart, they at once took me to their bosom. Before my reader becomes also intimately acquainted with them I will describe their quaint dwelling-place and its poetical surroundings.
God’s bluest sky lit the world as I roamed beneath the coco-palms. I had just left the kind host’s shanty wherein I had stayed for two or three days. It seemed like a dream to me as I reflected over all that had happened since I left the old country. The birds with brilliant wings in the bread-fruits, the beating of the native drums in the villages, and the tawny coco-nuts hanging over my head made me strangely happy. As I roamed beneath the palms I came to a hollow: it was near the Catholic mission-room. I heard a noise. It was Father O’Leary’s tired feet treading the musical treadmill, which is commonly known as the harmonium. I did not linger near that sacred spot; it reminded me too much of my childhood’s Sunday school afternoons in the British Isles.