Here Grimes and I embraced, and showed him exactly how to do it.
He screamed with delight, like a big child. Grimes and I nearly burst with laughter as he mimicked the scenes he pictured. Like all Marquesans, he was alert, and swift of comprehension, and extremely imaginative.
“Love me? Fall at my feet? Hubbie jealous? White womans love me? Me love wife when white man no look?”
I nodded my head rapidly to each vivacious interrogation.
Then he continued: “Me kiss beautiful white womans, and great white chiefs all come running after me like this.” Here he imitated all that he saw in his imagination, as fat white men ran after him, while he bolted with their wives and daughters up the great English Broom Road.[[4]]
[4]. The coast roads in Nuka Hiva and in Papeete, Tahiti, are called the Broom Road.
I could write several chapters about Hermionæ, his faithfulness, his quaint ways and fascinating sins.
The last I saw of him was two days after I had dressed him up in our old clothes, and he had swaggered about in that incongruous attire. Then he did as he had promised—brought all the clothes back. I felt sorry for him as, with his head hanging in sorrow, he walked majestically away, leaving his late greatness behind him.
Ere he was out of sight I missed something. “Hermionæ,” I yelled. But he was fleet of foot. It was too late.
Next day I met him. “Hermionæ,” said I, “you believe in great white God?”