Mary Hamilton paid the consul and his family a long visit. Her husband was one of the five judges who were still considering what to do and she was eager to learn what the American “Alii” thought, in order that she could go back and give good advice to her lord and master. “It is very difficult,” she said in remarkably good English; “if they find the man guilty and order his death all our people will cry out upon the judges for hanging a brave warrior who has done nothing wrong fa’a Kapua. To kill a ‘black’ man is all the same as shooting a pig. And,” she added, “if they say what they would like to say and set the man free, the count and Missi Klinger will be very angry, and after we belong to their country will punish the judges severely.” Mr. Lee laughed, despite the seriousness in Mary’s voice. “It’s their duty, Mary,” he replied, “to find according to the facts. If this man killed another deliberately and without provocation they should condemn him to be hung. If the man were a white man and I were the judge that is what I should be bound to do.” Mary looked puzzled. “But, Alii,” she replied, “this man is a very good man. He is a fine fighter, and a leader among the men of his family. This black boy was no good. Is it right that a good man be killed just because a bad black boy is killed?” “A life for a life, Mary,” Mr. Lee replied firmly. “That is the white man’s law.” The next day the judges gave their decision. It was that the native was guilty of murder and must be hung. The midshipmen were passing the jail a few days after the sentence had been given. They saw the prisoner squatting quietly within the doorway of the prison, talking unconcernedly with his policeman guard. “I feel sorry for that poor chap,” Sydney said sadly. “He’s a victim of white interference. Why should we force our laws upon these savages? According to his method of thinking, he has done no more than step on a cockroach, and he can’t see why we make so much fuss about it. Anyway, he doesn’t seem to be worrying--nature has omitted nerves in his make-up.” Phil had drawn near and now spoke a few words to the condemned man, who smiled affably and pointed gleefully into the next room, where several natives were going through some mysterious looking pantomime. “Go ahead; don’t mind us, Johnny,” Phil exclaimed as the chief of police and his assistants stopped their performance and glanced sheepishly at the midshipmen. “By George!” Sydney exclaimed in horror. “A rehearsal before the principal.”