“Who are you, and why do you kneel to me?” said Umi, looking up into the face of the giant with a feeling of awe. “If I had your limbs I would kneel alone to the gods.”
“I am Maukaleoleo, of Kona, and the most unfortunate of men,” replied the monster in a ponderous but not unpleasant tone. “My mother was Nuuheli; but she is now dead, and, having grown to the height of the trees, I live in the mountains among them, for men seem to fear and hate me, and women and children scream with fright at my approach.”
“And who was your father?” inquired Umi, kindly.
“As he died when I was young,” returned the giant, “and that was more than thirty years ago, I know not, except that his name was Mano, and that he claimed lineage from Kahaukapu, the grandfather of the great Liloa, whose unworthy son now rules in Hawaii.”
“Hist!” exclaimed Umi, reaching up and placing his hand gently upon the shoulder of the monster. “There is death in such words, even to a man of Maukaleoleo’s girth. The trees are listeners as well as myself.”
“The trees will say nothing,” was the reply, “for they often hear such words of Hakau. But why should I fear death? I was not born to be slain for speaking the truth. Listen, and then tell me why Maukaleoleo should fear anything that is human. When a boy a stranger met me one day on the cliffs overlooking the sea, where I was searching for the feathers of the oo. He was mighty in stature, and in fear I fell upon the ground and hid my face. He called me by name, and I looked up and saw that he held in his hand a small fish of the color of the skies at sunset. Handing the fish to me, he said: ‘Eat this, and to see your face all men will look toward the stars.’ I knew he was a god—Kanaloa, perhaps—and I feared to refuse. So I took the fish and ate it, and the stranger stepped over the cliffs with a smile on his face and disappeared. The fish was pleasant to the taste, and I could have eaten more. A strange sense of increasing strength seized me, and on my way home I lifted large rocks and felt that I could uproot trees. I said nothing to my mother of what had happened, but the next morning she looked at me with fright and wonder, for during the night I had grown an arm’s length in height. Except upon my hands and knees I could no longer enter the door of the house where I was born, and everything with which I was familiar had a dwarfed and unnatural look. I was ashamed to meet my old associates, and only ventured from the house when it was too dark for me to be plainly seen. Larger and larger I grew, until at the age of fifteen I reached my present proportions, when my mother died, and I made my home in the mountains, where I have since spent the most of my time. What should one so treated by the gods fear from man?” And Maukaleoleo rose to his feet, towering like a cocoa-tree above his companion.
“A strange story, indeed! But if the trees, which are speechless, do not betray you, why should not I?” said Umi, curious to learn something farther of the strange being in whose veins possibly coursed the blood of kings.
“Because,” answered the giant, slowly, “you are Umi, the son of Liloa, and Hakau is your enemy!”
Umi listened to these words in amazement, and then frankly said:
“You are right. I am Umi, the son of Liloa, and Hakau is not my friend. And now that you know so much, you cannot but also know that it is prudent for me to remain at present unknown. Let me ask in return that you will not betray me.”