"Her father went whack! whack!" Pola illustrated the scene with gusto, "and Maua cried, ah! ah! But the village says Mata is right, for we must not let the white man's evil come near us." "Evil?" I said; "what evil?" "Drink," said Pola, solemnly. Then he told how "the ladies of Tanugamanono" bought a pig of Mr. B., a trader, each contributing a dollar until forty dollars were collected. There was to be a grand feast among the ladies on account of the choosing of a maid or _taupo_, the young girl who represents the village on all state occasions. When the pig came it turned out to be an old boar, so tough and rank it could not be eaten. The ladies were much ashamed before their guests, and asked the white man for another pig, but he only laughed at them. He had their money, so he did not care, "That was very, very bad of him," I exclaimed, indignantly. "It is the way of white people," said Pola, philosophically. It was through my little chief that we learned of a bit of fine hospitality. It seems that pigs were scarce in the village, so each house-chief pledged himself to refrain from killing one of them for six months. Any one breaking this rule agreed to give over his house to be looted by the village. Pola came up rather late one morning, and told me, hilariously, of the fun they had had looting Tupuola's house. "But Tupuola is a friend of ours," I said. "I don't like to hear of all his belongings being scattered." "It is all right," Pola explained. "Tupuola said to the village, 'Come and loot. I have broken the law and I will pay the forfeit.'" "How did he break the law?" I asked. "When the high-chief Loia, your brother of the four eyes, stopped the night at Tanugamanono, on his way to the shark fishing, he stayed with Tupuola, so of course it was chiefly to kill a pig in his honor." "But it was against the law. My brother would not have liked it, and Tupuola must have felt badly to know his house was to be looted." "He would have felt worse," said Pola, "to have acted unchiefly to a friend." We never would have known of the famine in Tanugamanono if it had not been for Pola. The hurricane had blown off all the young nuts from the cocoanut palms and the fruit from the breadfruit trees, while the taro was not yet ripe. We passed the village daily. The chief was my brother's dear friend; the girls often came up to decorate the place for a dinner party, but we had no hint of any distress in the village. One morning I gave Pola two large ship's biscuits from the pantry. "Be not angry," said Pola, "but I prefer to carry these home." "Eat them," I said, "and I will give you more." Before leaving that night he came to remind me of this. I was swinging in a hammock reading a novel when Pola came to kiss my hand and bid me good night. "_Love_," I said, "_Talofa_." "_Soifua_," Pola replied, "may you sleep;" and then he added, "Be not angry, but the biscuits----" "Are you hungry?" I asked. "Didn't you have your dinner?"