“Where is he?” inquired Kana.
“Here he is, just arrived.”
Kana looked forth, and Hakalanileo recoiled with fear at the blazing of his eyes.
Then spoke Niheu: “Why could you not wait before looking at our father? Behold, you have frightened him, and he has run back.”
On this, Kana, remaining yet in the house, stretched forth his hand, and, grasping the old man in the distance, brought him back and sat him on his lap. Then Kana wept. And the impudent Niheu said, “Now you are crying; look out for the old man, or he will get water-soaked.”
But Kana ordered Niheu to bestir himself and light a fire, for the tears of Kana were as the big dropping rains of winter, soaking the plain. And Kana said to the old man, “Now, dry yourself by the fire, and when you are warm, tell your story.”
The old man obeyed, and when he was warm enough, told the story of his grief. Then said Kana, “Almost spent are my years; I am only waiting for death, and behold I have at last found a foeman worthy of my prowess.”
Kana immediately espoused the cause of Hakalanileo, and ordered his younger brother, Niheu, to construct a canoe for the voyage. Poor Niheu worked and toiled without success until, in despair, he exclaimed, upbraidingly, “Thy work is not work; it is slavery. There thou dwellest at thy ease in thy retreat, while with thy foot thou destroyest my canoe.”
Upon this, Kana pointed out to Niheu a bush, and said, “Can you pull up that bush?”
“Yes,” replied Niheu, for it was but a small bush, and he doubted not his ability to root it up; so he pulled and tugged away, but could not loosen it.