“Oh,” said the chief, looking about uneasily.
“Dost thee not hear it?” cried Kinross, incredulously. “To me it is clear like the mission bell, thus: ‘Bow-wow-wow-give-also-some-sugar-and-some-tea-and-some-tobacco-to-his-Highness-Tangaloa-bow-wow-wow!’”
The old chief fairly beamed. “Blessed was my dog in life, and blessed in death also!” he cried. “Behold, Kinilosi, he also barks about a few fish-hooks in a bag, and for a small subscription to our new church.”
“I think he says fifty cents,” said Kinross.
“No, no,” cried the chief; “it was like this—quite plain: ‘One-dollar-one-dollar!’”
“That ends it,” said Kinross. “I must haste to obey the voice of the spirit dog. Good-bye, your Highness.”
“Good-bye, Kinilosi,” returned the chief, warmly. “I laugh and talk jestingly, but my heart—”
“Mine also,” added Kinross, quickly, again grasping the old man’s hand.
He strode off with a light step, in a glow of enthusiasm and high spirits. It would be hard to leave the old village, after all. He might travel far and not find hearts more generous or kindly, and he vowed he would never forget his Samoans—no, if he lived a thousand years. And if, after all, the new order of things should fail to please, and he should find himself stifled by the civilisation to which he had been so long a stranger, could he not always return to this little paradise, and live out the number of his days in perennial content? He would search for some savings-bank in London, and place there to his credit a sum large enough to ship him back to the Islands. Whatever the pinch, it should lie there untouched and sacred; and as he toiled in the stern, grey land of his birth, the thought of that secret hoard would always be a comfort to him. But what if the bank should break, as banks do in those centres of the high civilisation, and he should find himself stranded half the world away from the place he loved so dearly? He shivered at the thought. There should be two hoards, in two banks, or else he would feel continually uneasy. The line to the rear must be kept open at any cost.
He found Leata sitting on the floor, spelling out “The Good News from New Guinea” in the missionary magazine. She was fresh from her bath, and her black, damp hair was outspread to the sunshine to dry. She rippled with smiles at his approach, and it seemed to him she had never looked more radiant and engaging. He sat down beside her, and pressed her curly hair against his lips and kissed it. How was it that such a little savage could appear to him more alluring than any white woman he had ever seen? Was he bewitched? He looked at her critically, dispassionately, and marvelled at the perfection of her wild young beauty, marvelled, too, at her elegance and delicacy. And for heart and tenderness, where was her match in all the seas? He threw his arm round her and kissed her on the lips.