220 MYSTIC ISLES 



Framed in the door of a rough cabin I saw McHenry. 

 He was in pajamas, barefooted, and unshaven. I re- 

 called that he had an "old woman" there. Llewellyn 

 had reproved him for speaking contemptuously of her 

 as beneath him socially. I waved to McHenrv, who 

 nodded charily, and pulled down the curtain which was 

 in lieu of a door. The shack looked bare and cheap, as 

 if little money or effort had been spent upon it. Per- 

 haps, I thought, McHenry could afford only the drinks 

 and cards at the Cercle Bougainville and economized at 

 home. He did not reappear, but a comely native 

 woman drew back the curtain, and stood a moment to 

 view us. She was large, and did not look browbeaten, 

 as one would have supposed from McHenry's boast 

 that he would not permit her even to walk with him 

 except at a "respectful distance." Of course I knew 

 him as a boaster. 



The church of the curious Josephite religion was 

 near by, and in the mission house attached to it I saw 

 the American preachers of the sect. 



"What do they preach?" I asked Noanoa Tiare. 



"Those missionaries, the Tonito? Oh, they speak 

 evil of the INIormons. I do not know how they speak of 

 God." She laughed. "I am not interested in relig- 

 ions," she explained. "They are so difficult to under- 

 stand. Our own old gods seem easier to know about." 



We had arrived at the part of the beach into which 

 the broad avenue of Fautaua debouched. 



The road was beside the stream of Fautaua, and arch- 

 ing it were magnificent dark-green trees, like the locust- 

 trees of JNIalta. This avenue was in the middle of the 

 island, and looking through the climbing bow of 



