A blithe incident enlivened that peaceful period, preceding tragic events which must be told in their proper place. On the fairest of tropical mornings Kippy and I heard a gentle tapping at the trunk of our tree and, peering over the floor, saw below Baahaabaa, his face shining with happiness. "Katia?" we questioned, but he was mysterious and led us quietly to the trees occupied by the Swanks, the Whinneys and finally Triplett, all of whom he roused as he had us. "Katia?" we repeated. "Hoko," he answered, and to our surprise, again motioned us forward. For twenty minutes we threaded a forest trail in which still lurked the shadows of night. At a giant palm tree our leader again tapped gently. Who should look over the edge of the densely screened dwelling but William Henry Thomas! At first glimpse of us he hastily drew back and I heard the muttered sound of old-fashioned, New England cursing. Reassured by Baahaabaa, however, he slid down to join us, followed by his wife. It was the first time I had ever really seen her and I must say that I was completely bowled over by the sight. Plainly not of the same social class as the beautiful women whom Baahaabaa had selected for us, she yet possessed an eerie charm of her own which instantly stirred strange emotions in my breast. I heard Swank gasp and Whinney's face was white and drawn, his favorite expression when deeply moved. She stood close to her husband, half-twined about him with the grace and strength of an _eva-eva_ vine while her kindling eyes burned questioningly, her lithe body tense and protective. "He is to be christened," said Baahaabaa, with a magnificent gesture toward William Henry Thomas. We could only look our astonishment. "Yes," continued the chief, smiling benignly, "first among you all is he to have his name recorded in our ancient fashion." As he pronounced these words Baahaabaa lifted his left foot solemnly and pointed to his own royal appellation tattooed on the sole. Our wives did likewise. "What is his name?" Whinney asked. William Henry Thomas's head rose proudly as his wife replied in thrilling, woodland tones, "Fatakahala." "Fatakahala!" repeated Baahaabaa, "Flower of Darkness," and William Henry Thomas raised his head as high as it would go. "When does the ceremony take place?" asked Whinney. Baahaabaa pointed to the distant peak of the mountain. "Tonight. Maka, the Tattooer, is ready; the fishbones are sharpened; the juice of the tupa-berries fills the holy shell. We go." All that day we strung ceremonial garlands about the base of the mountain, which, with its circumference of a mile and three-quarters, was no small task. But sunset found it completed. We supped on the beach and at nine, under a rising moon, climbed toward the summit. The peak was reserved for William Henry Thomas, Maka and her four attendants who bore the utensils and long ropes of _eva-eva_--"to tie him with," whispered Baahaabaa. [Illustration: The Nest of a Fatu-Liva]