And the boy leads the way down a path to a tree covered with vines trailing from the topmost branches to the ground. It makes a perfect bower of the sweet-smelling blossoms; but it is not this Upa wishes to show. He leads Auwae close to the trunk of the tree and bids her look straight upward to an odd nest gnawed in the trunk far above them. From the hole two bright eyes are peering down at the children. They belong to a large rat that has made his home in the tree; perhaps he did this to be sure of safety from small boys. Or possibly it was to secure himself from the raids of the mongoose, so common in Hawaii nowadays. [Illustration: "A LITTLE STREAM WHERE TWO WOMEN ARE WASHING"] "Poor little fellow," says Auwae, "I don't blame him. Father says that a good many rats live in the trees near here, but I never saw them there before. And father says, too, that the white men brought the mongoose here from India to drive out the rats, but the little fellows are not satisfied with killing them off; they want our chickens, too. It's a perfect shame. I wish they had stayed in their own country." As the children now hurry on their way, they are obliged to cross a little stream where two women are washing. There are neither tubs, scrubbing-boards, nor soap to be seen. The clothing is dipped into the soft water and the parts most soiled are rubbed on flat stones. It must be rather hard on garments made of fine cloth, and it seems as though the women would get tired bending down. After all, there are but few things to wash, and, as the people do not work hard, their clothing cannot get badly soiled. But look! Here come some of Auwae's schoolmates to join them. They are swimming down the stream. Each carries her clothing in a small bundle in her hand; she holds it out of the water as she paddles along. It is such a common matter that Auwae is not in the least surprised. The schoolhouse is soon reached. It has but one large room, as there are but thirty children in the village. Much of the time the gentle schoolmaster sits with his pupils under the large tree near by. Auwae likes that much the best. She can never get used to the close air inside the house. But to-day the children must do some writing, so they sit at their desks and compose letters to their adopted brothers and sisters in America. How odd it seems to see the schoolmaster tend his baby while he teaches the children! Why didn't he leave it with his wife at home? Because in this island of flowers it is the duty of men as well as women to act as nurses. It seems a strange idea to us, but, if they are satisfied, it must be all right. Look at the baby! He is wrapped in enough clothing for six such tiny beings, and drops of perspiration are running down his face; but he does not cry.