"It is too much work. I know I should get tired; but you can tell me all about it, my child, when you come back. Then I can see it through your eyes. And Upa's father will be kind, and will take good care of you. I shall not worry." When the first light of the morning shines through the tree tops, three clumsy-looking horses stand in front of Auwae's door. Upa and his father use two of them; the third one is for our little brown maiden, who appears with a fresh garland of flowers upon her head and a smile on her red lips. She springs upon the saddle without help, and sits astride of the horse just as Upa does. In fact, all Hawaiians ride in this way, and it is very wise. The women could not travel safely over the rough mountain passes if they rode like their white cousins. "Aloha! Aloha! Aloha!" echoes through the grove, and the party is soon out of sight. They have more than thirty miles of climbing before them; the horses must walk nearly all the way, as it is a steady rise from the village to the edge of the great crater. At first, the way is through a perfect forest of breadfruit, candlenut, and palm trees. Among them are ferns growing from twenty to thirty feet high! Their great stalks are covered with a silky, golden-brown fibre. Other ferns, more delicate, are wound around these and live upon their life. It is cool in the shade of the trees; the way is narrow and the horses must go in single file to keep out of the thick underbrush. Presently the way grows lighter and the party come out of the forest and pass a large sugar plantation. Chinese labourers are cutting down the long canes and carrying them to the mill to be crushed. The white overseers are hurrying from one place to another, urging on the men and giving directions, while through it all Auwae can hear the rush and roar of a waterfall. She cannot see it, because the mill and boiler-house hide it from her sight. The party move to one side to let a team of mules pass them on the narrow road. The mules are laden with kegs of sugar which must be carried to the coast and shipped to distant lands. The children would like to stop awhile on the plantation, but Upa's father says they must not delay. It will be evening before they can reach the volcano-house. As they climb higher and higher up the mountainside, the air grows cooler, yet the heat from the sun is so great they are still too warm for comfort. Suddenly a heavy shower takes them by surprise, and Auwae cries out in delight: "Upa, isn't this fun? I'm going to open my mouth and let the raindrops fall right in. I'm so thirsty! Aren't you?" The children lie back in their saddles and leave their trusty horses to follow their leader onward and ever upward. No one gives a thought to wet clothing, for will it not be dry again a few minutes after the rain stops falling?