"Trained and educated, there is no reason why our island girls should not make excellent wives," said he; "but the time is not ripe yet. Nothing but bitterness and disillusion can come of the mingling of natures so opposite. Meanwhile, if our lads can stand the test they will be all the better for it." Nothing serious happened--outwardly at any rate, though it is not impossible that a good deal went on of which the authorities were not aware--until, one day, one of the men was missing, and no one knew--or at all events would say--what had become of him. Captain Cathie discovered the lapsus when he had his men out for drill on the beach. "Where's Sandy Lean?" he asked. No answer, but covert grins from the rest, and flashes of laughter from the girls who were watching--laughter which evoked a growl from the brown men. "Very well! We'll deal with Sandy afterwards. Fall in, men! 'Tention!" and the drill proceeded. When it was over, the captain questioned two or three of them as to Sandy's probable whereabouts, but got nothing out of them. So he marched over to Blair's quarters, where the four heads of the community were hammering away at the language, Ha'o giving and receiving, and Matti straightening out kinks. "Sandy Lean's away, Mr. Blair, and I can't get track of him," announced the captain. "Ah!" and Blair drummed quietly on the table till the hot anger cooled. "So that's come at last," he said presently. "I'm sorry. The man's a fool, but as he has chosen, so he must lie." He explained the matter to Ha'o, who showed no surprise and still less annoyance. His manner even implied that he looked upon the alliance as an honour to Kapaa'a, and that any other view of it might be popularly resented. "Can you find the man for us?" asked Blair. "What do you want with him?" asked Ha'o. "He must marry the girl." "I will find him," and next day he brought word that the fugitives were camped lightly in the hills, in one of the houses vacated by the dissolved third faction. Blair, Cathie, and Ha'o accordingly set off at once to straighten the matter out, and a couple of hours' climbing brought them to the place. Sandy Lean's old mother in Greenock Vennel would surely not have known him in his present estate. With the bonds and trammels of civilisation he had lightly discarded also its outward and visible tokens. His only clothing was a kilt of white cotton, whereby he was already paying tribute to folly in the clouds of flies and mosquitoes which levied toll on his white skin. In the hope of circumventing them, or with a loverly idea of assimilation to his brown bride, he had smeared himself with mud from the taro fields, and was now a motley pastel in black and red and white. The sound of his voice, droning a comic song, drew them to the house, where he lay flat on his back on a mat. By his side sat the brown girl, doing her best to keep off the flies with a bunch of leaves.