“Man devil, woman devil; too much devil,” said my friend. “Stop there all-e-time. Man he go there, no come back.” I thought if this fellow was so well posted on devils and spoke of them so free, which is not common, I had better fish for a little information about myself and Uma. “You think me one devil?” I asked. “No think devil,” said he soothingly. “Think all-e-same fool.” “Uma, she devil?” I asked again. “No, no; no devil. Devil stop bush,” said the young man. I was looking in front of me across the bay, and I saw the hanging front of the woods pushed suddenly open, and Case, with a gun in his hand, step forth into the sunshine on the black beach. He was got up in light pyjamas, near white, his gun sparkled, he looked mighty conspicuous; and the land-crabs scuttled from all round him to their holes. “Hullo, my friend!” says I, “you no talk all-e-same true. Ese he go, he come back.” “Ese no all-e-same; Ese _Tiapolo_,” says my friend; and, with a “Good-bye,” slunk off among the trees. I watched Case all round the beach, where the tide was low; and let him pass me on the homeward way to Falesá. He was in deep thought, and the birds seemed to know it, trotting quite near him on the sand, or wheeling and calling in his ears. When he passed me I could see by the working of his lips that he was talking to himself, and what pleased me mightily, he had still my trade mark on his brow, I tell you the plain truth: I had a mind to give him a gunful in his ugly mug, but I thought better of it. All this time, and all the time I was following home, I kept repeating that native word, which I remembered by “Polly, put the kettle on and make us all some tea,” tea-a-pollo. “Uma,” says I, when I got back, “what does _Tiapolo_ mean?” “Devil,” says she. “I thought _aitu_ was the word for that,” I said. “_Aitu_ ’nother kind of devil,” said she; “stop bush, eat Kanaka. Tiapolo big chief devil, stop home; all-e-same Christian devil.” “Well then,” said I, “I’m no farther forward. How can Case be Tiapolo?” “No all-e-same,” said she. “Ese belong Tiapolo; Tiapolo too much like; Ese all-e-same his son. Suppose Ese he wish something, Tiapolo he make him.” “That’s mighty convenient for Ese,” says I. “And what kind of things does he make for him?”