The company could but agree to this; whereupon, beginning with Wave, he took each one of them in turn by the hand, carrying it to his cheek, the better to test its warmth, holding the hollow to his ear to catch any murmur that might reverberate from it. Each hand he found to be only of natural heat. Turning, then, to Pele herself, he proposed to inspect her hand. At this the goddess drew back.
“If none of these beautiful women is Pele, how can you think that a wrinkled old woman like me is the divine and beautiful Pele?”
Paoa insisted and Pele had to consent. He reached out and took her hand and, on the instant, dropped it; it was burning hot.
“This is Pele!” he exclaimed.
Paoa stood in awed silence before the goddess. Resentment and thoughts of revenge, like evil birds, had taken flight.
At Pele’s command, the women led him away to take refreshment in the sacred dining hall of Mauli-ola. Before seating himself, Paoa uttered this memorable pule, a mele that has drifted down to us from the wa po:
Hulihia ke au, ka papa honua o kona moku;
Hulihia, kulia mai ka moku o Kahiki—
Aina no Kahiki i ka la kahi,
Aina ho’owali’a e Haumea: