“Yes, beautiful to you,” said young Russell, “but we see it all the time. We study and read about England and America and long to see the beautiful things there, isn’t that so, Sarah?” “Yes, indeed,” replied the young girl. “How much I would like to see England, for in reality we are all English here.” The young girl paused and soon continued, “They tell me that the American girls are bright and beautiful. Is it not so?” What could a great boy like myself say to a question like that? I think she meant to relieve me of my embarrassment, for she said cheerily, “Tell me about the American girls—how they look and what they do?” In my simple boyish way I tried to comply, but not very successfully; and I think she helped me out some by asking a second question before I could answer the first. Suddenly she broke out, “There are two things that girls do the world over—they sing and dance. I would like to hear your girls sing and see them dance. I suppose we all sing alike but we dance differently. We have a simple dance which came to us from our Tahitian grandmothers. Yours is different; you glide around in kind of circles, I think; but that would be impossible for me.” I think that, if the girl had thought a moment, she would not have made this allusion to her large bare feet which had never known shoes. There was a troubled look to her eyes. Then there came a ringing laugh. “But we girls can put our feet to a noble use. Swimming is as easy to us as it is to the water fowl. We take to it from infancy. Only yesterday I swam round the island.” “Swam round the island!” I exclaimed. “Yes, that is nothing,” she said. “It is only about five miles.” And now Young Russell plied me with all kinds of questions about American boys—how they looked and what they did—and about American cities and what they looked like. I endeavored to answer as well as I could. When it came to cities, I told him I never had been in but one—the little city I came from. And so we strolled back to the point of departure, chatting away like old friends meeting after a long separation. It was with deep interest that I watched the preparation of the food that was to constitute our repast. Sarah’s mother was there—not so dark as her daughter, but comely and pleasant. “Come,” said the young girl, “and see how your dinner is prepared and cooked.” Just outside the house was a hole in the ground which was used as an oven. Sarah covered the bottom of it with fresh plaintain leaves. From a fire near by heated stones were pitched into the hole and covered with another layer of leaves. Then yams, breadfruit and sweet potatoes, four large fowl wrapped in tappa cloth, and three great cakes, made of yams and plaintains beaten up and similarly covered, were laid in. Over them all were placed more leaves and heated stones, and over the stones another great layer of leaves. Above all, to keep in the heat, was laid a piece of old canvas. Pointing at it, Sarah said with a laugh: