Many days must have been spent in gathering the collection; many different people have helped Auwae in making it,--for often only a single kind of shell can be found in one whole island. People in Hawaii exchange specimens, just as the American boys and girls trade postage-stamps with each other. The white people in the village would like to buy Auwae's collection to send to a museum across the ocean, but she would not think of parting with it. CHAPTER VIII. THE DIVER. WHEN school is over, Upa and Auwae go home through the woods so that they can throw stones in a certain waterfall. They have no fear that snakes will suddenly take them by surprise, for there is not a single one in the whole island. Neither do they hear frogs croaking beside a shady pool, for neither frogs nor toads have ever hopped upon Hawaiian soil. Wherever they come to an open space beneath the trees, they play ball. Upa made his own ball out of leaves which he packed closely together, and Auwae bound it with sweet-smelling grasses when he had pressed it into shape. The boy's busy mind has planned new sport for the afternoon, and he says: "Auwae, after you have had your nap, do you want to fish? Old Hiko is going out to the coral reefs, and he has promised I should go with him. He says I may bring you, too, if you wish." Auwae claps her hands with pleasure, for it will be a great treat. Hiko is the only one in the village now who dives for fish. The other men use lines made from the fibres of the flax-plant, and are satisfied to sit in their boats, and lazily wait for bites. Auwae has grown to be a fine diver, and hopes to learn something by watching the old man. After a dinner of dried devil-fish and sweet potatoes, with baked seaweed for a relish, and a delicious pudding of grated taro and cocoanut milk, our little brown cousin stretches herself under the trees, and is soon fast asleep. She is dreaming of catching fresh-water shrimps in the stream near her house when she is roused by a gentle pat on her forehead. It is Upa, who says: "We must hurry, Auwae. Hiko is going in half an hour, and he will not wait for us." Auwae is instantly wide awake, and after a loving "Aloha!" to her mother, she hurries to the shore with Upa. The old fisherman is already there in his long, clumsy-looking canoe. He hollowed it from the trunk of a tree, and there is just room enough inside for himself and the two children. At one side of the boat there is an outrigger to balance it, and make it quite safe. Hiko has a queer-looking paddle in his hand, and another beside him. These paddles are like clumsy wooden spoons; it seems wonderful how fast they can make the boat travel over the water. The children wade out from the shore to the deeper water where the boat is riding; then with a bound they spring into their places, Auwae to steer, and Upa to seize the other paddle.