62 MYSTIC ISLES 



this beach. Once in Mukden, Manchuria, I sat up half 

 the night while the American consul and a globe-trotter 

 painted for me the portraits of Lovaina's girls. 



I was atop a disorderly camel named Mark Twain 

 nosing about the Sphinx when my companion remarked 

 that that stony-faced lady looked a good deal like Te- 

 manu of Lovaina's. Then I had to have the whole 

 story of Lovaina and her household. I have heard it 

 away from Tahiti a dozen times and always different. . 



Doubtless, in the dozen years the gentle Lovaina min- 

 istered to the needs of travelers and residents, many 

 girls came and went in her house. Some have married, 

 and some have gone away without a ring, but all have 

 been made much of by those they served, and have lived 

 gayly and by the way. 



Lovaina, herself, said to me: 



"You know those girl', they go ruin. That girl you 

 see here few minutes ago I bring her up just like 

 Christian; be good, be true, do her prayers, make her 

 soul all right. Then I go San Francisco. What you 

 think? When I come back she ruin. 'Most break my 

 heart. That man he come to me, he say: 'Lovaina, I 

 take good care that girl. I love her.' That girl with 

 him now. She happy, got plenty dress, plenty best to 

 eat, and nice buggy. I tell you, I give up trying save 

 those girl'. I think they like ruin best. I turn my 

 back — they ruin." 



Iromea was the sturdy veteran of the corps. Tall, 

 handsdme, straight, mother of four children, obliging, 

 wise in the way of the white, herself all native. 



"And the babies?" I inquired. 



"They all scatter. Some in country; some different 



