The natives were regarding curiously the group before them. Captain Gray answered, “No, we did not come in so small a boat from our land, but our big ship was burned at sea, and nine days have we drifted, until we came upon your island.” Mabel now broke in with: “Are there white people on your island?” “White people, daughter of mahina (the moon), what are white people?” “Why, do you not know? and yet you speak English; we are white people, not brown like yourself and your friends.” “Are all your people like you, daughter of mahina, as if the light of Ka La shone forever on bright pearls?” Mabel was a little confused at his admiring glance, but answered: “Yes, do you not see, all my friends are white, also?” “The two daughters are white, as you say, but not so white are the warriors.” There was a general laugh at this remark. Etta spoke up for her bronzed father and the two sailors, saying, “they are indeed darker than we, but the rays of the sun made them so, while we live indoors.” The sailors were indeed very much sun-burned, while Captain Gray was naturally a very dark man. There was no denying the fact that they presented a strong contrast to the two girls, who were both fair, with light hair, particularly Mabel, whose complexion was extremely delicate. On attempting to talk with the other natives, Captain Gray was surprised to find that they understood but a word or two of what was said to them. “You have not told us yet: are there other of our people living on your island?” “No, not of your people. My father speaks your tongue. He has taught me to speak it also, but he is of our people.” “But, if he speaks English he must be an American or an Englishman,” cried Mabel. “No, said I, not, he is my father. How is he of your people beyond the rising of Ka La. No waa, in all my life before, ever came to our land, nor heard I of any that ever came.” “But is he dark, like you, or white like us?” persists Mabel, feeling sure that his father must be a white man, having noticed that all of the natives with him were much darker than he. “He is as thy father,” answered Ahleka, pointing to Captain Gray. “This is not my father, my father is beyond the rising of the sun. This is the father of my friend,” she said, pointing to Etta. “Did not your father come from some far country?” inquired the captain. “Yes. It is said by the people of our village that the fiku (fig) trees have been in blossom many, many times, since my father and two other Alii (chiefs) descended from pale mahina to dwell among our people. They spoke not as our people spoke, but soon learned our language. My father taught me your strange tongue as a pastime, and when I saw the faces of the mahina maidens I spoke it to them. But come let me take you to my father.” “Not yet,” answered Captain Gray, “we have two more who belong to us and we must wait till they come back, and, besides that we have not eaten yet.”