430 MYSTIC ISLES 



The road was a fairy-tale brightly illuminated by 

 plantation, jungle, and garden, by reef and eyot. The 

 sea lapped gently on sand as white as the fleecy clouds. 

 Carts of Chinese and Tahitians passed, carrying their 

 owners and produce. The Chinese said, "Yulannar for 

 "la ora na^ and the natives called to us to eat with them 

 in their near-by homes. But we walked on, saying, "Ua 

 maururur "Much obliged !" 



M. Butscher had a good-sized, rambling house, with 

 verandas for dining, and bedrooms for sleep. We 

 found him on his largest table, lying flat on his back, 

 and contemplating, in the eternal and perplexing way 

 of the Polynesians. The Daibutsu, the great Buddha 

 of Kamakura, had no more peaceful, meditative aspect 

 than had the Taravao taverner. He was long and 

 meager, as dry as a cocoanut from the copra oven, as 

 if all the juices of his body and soul had been expressed 

 in his years of cooking the sea-centipedes for which he 

 was celebrated. Tatini addressed him slowly: "Boc- 

 sliaWj ia ora na!" 



He sat up stiffly, and regarded us with indifference. 

 He was cast for an old and withered Mephistopheles, 

 his lines all downward, his few teeth fangs, and his smile 

 a tlireatening leer, as if he thought of a joke he could 

 not tell to decent visitors, but which almost choked him 

 to withhold. His clothes were rags, and his naked feet 

 like the flippers of seals. He opened his mouth, yawned, 

 and said, "liii" a word which means, "I slept with my 

 eyes open." 



He settled back upon the table, and became immersed 

 again in reverie. On the floor by the kitchen was a 

 Tahitian woman with a baby and a pandanus-basket of 



