'Why has this misfortune come upon us?' they said to one another. 'Why should Narü, who is an aito{*} set his heart upon the daughter of Tetoro when there are women of as good blood as her close to his hand? Surely, when she comes here to live, then will there be hard times in the land, and we shall be eaten up with hunger.'
* A man distinguished in warfare.
'Ay,' said a girl named Milli, 'it is hard that we should give our all to a strange woman.'
She spoke very loudly, and without fear, and the rest of the people looked wonderingly at her, for she was but a poor slave, and, as such, should not have raised her voice when men were present. So they angrily bade her be silent. Who was she that dared to speak of such things? If she died of hunger, they said, what did it matter? She was but a girl and a slave, and girls' lives were worth nothing until they bore male children.
And then Milli the Slave sprang up, her eyes blazing with anger, and heaped scorn upon them for cowards.
'See,' she said, and her voice shook with passion; 'see me, Milli the Slave, standing before ye all, and listen to my words, so that your hearts may grow strong, even as strong as mine has grown. Listen while I tell thee of a dream that came to me in the night.
'In my dream this land of ours became as it was fifteen moons ago, and as it may never be again. I saw the groves of plantains, with their loads of fruit, shine red and yellow, like the setting of the sun, and the ground was forced open because of the great size of the yams and taro and arrowroot that grew beneath; and I heard the heavy fall of the ripe coconuts on the grass, and the crooning notes of the pigeons that fed upon the red mati berries were as the low booming of the surf on the reef when it sounds far distant.'
For a little while she ceased, and the people muttered.
'Ay, it was so, fifteen moons ago.'
And then Milli, sinking upon one knee, and spreading out her arms towards them, spoke again, but in a low, soft voice,—