"WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.”

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At Rota I asked leave to take away a very great friend of mine, named Sirombuka, and although he was nearly as tall as Percy himself, still permission was granted.

Rota without Diara! What an empty miserable place! The tears of his wife and the innocence of the fatherless little Mina, almost made me take back my forgiveness of the Captain and the Doctor. What unmendable havoc they had wrought! The beautiful house he had built for Percy was burnt, his canoes smashed, and his plantations destroyed. Wherever we went we were met by mourners asking: "Where are our husbands? Where are our brothers? Where are our sons?" And in two places there was another cry: "Where are our sisters and our wives?"

They offered Mr. Wakefield a pig if he would bring them all back again.

I doubt if you, yourself, would not retaliate under such vile treatment as this. We did so at the risk of been blown to pieces for it as blood-thirsty cannibals; for such was the experience of several islands where they had no Percy Wakefield to tell their tale, as we had. But to think of all this makes me feel so bitter, and is so like, even now, to rouse my old bad vindictive nature that I shall drop it. It is hurtful to me, and can do no one else any good, except to call forth the righteous indignation of those who desire to do justice, but who do not know the truth, or else cannot believe it.

leave Rota. It reand was simply the

For once in my life I was not sorry to called nothing but a most unhappy past, melancholy ghost of its former merry self. I led Mr. Wakefield to the Jumping Rock, and there we stood in silence, until my friend, whose presence changed the nature of the place and took away all its horror, said with great tenderness and feeling, "O, my dear boy, Percy, the mere thought of what might have been, fills me with an overwhelming sense of thankfulness, for what was not allowed to be. We both thank Thee here, this

happy day, O kind watchful Father, that Thou didst snatch this erring child of Thine from murder and death, to return to Thee and me, forgiven! May he lead all his people to that Home which he has learnt, by wandering in a far country, both to value and to love!"

We looked down-and then turned back.

My father, Marévo, had died about three months after Diara and I were taken away. Siama, quite old looking and withered, sobbed out to us anew the oft-told tale of how the great man had refused food and comfort, saying that he would never eat, nor chew, nor smoke again until his boys were back. Is I go to see my children," were his last words, and then he died. "Did you not see him in the east there-at Happy Island?" inquired my mother earnestly of Mr. Wakefield. "No ?—and

is he telling the truth, my son ?" she asked of me.

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"Marévo was a good man," answered my kind friend, "he did not know God, but God knew him. He is in a better place than Happy Island. He followed the religion that he had. He could not walk by a light that had not then shone upon him. Your husband, our dear son's father, is at rest in God's keeping. There is no reason to cry for him. But you, Siama, must now make up your mind to spend the few years you may have left in learning about this Jesus, whom Percy here has taken for his Saviour, and whose love and power he has found out. By-and-bye, Rogani shall come and live here altogether, and will teach you as no one else can. Now, we must go. We shall think of you and pray for you always." "Tell the great man, when you shall see him, that Rota and I are widowed and desolate, and that I am weary of waiting here alone. Go! You-two will see him first. But don't you stay away for ever, like Diara! O, I am undone and left alone! You must come back to bury me!"

"Yes, mother, I will come and fill Diara's place and mine. Don't cry. I will be all you want, and I have to tell you about

A MAN OF LETTERS.

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God who calls Himself the God of the fatherless and of the widow-your God."

Sobs were her only answer.

Poor Siama! It seemed cruel to leave her, but it was only

for a time, and I can truly say that I left her for Christ's sake.

CHAPTER LIV.

TOO BRIGHT TO LAST.

WE coasted back to Uri in our little boat, enjoying the trip beyond measure; but the heat and damp and excitement must have worn out my friend.

On our arrival at Tanasémbé, which we reached about noon the next day, William Iru was in attendance with a book of names of boys who had "schooled" during our absence.

We had over one hundred scholars that evening, including Wakefield the Less, who was dragged out howling and was beaten by Rukomba all the way home. We sang late into the night. Mr. Wakefield concludes his account of the day with these words:

"Percy is playing while I write this; thankful for having done so much, and endured so much heat and damp, etc., and being none the worse, but better."

The Aurora came, bringing Arthur and party. She also brought letters from England. The extraordinary influence and power which these pieces of flimsy paper, covered with crooked marks, had over Mr. Wakefield filled even Malagai with astonishment. He became perfectly deaf to all that passed around him, and if he did speak it was like one talking in his sleep. I have known him go nearly a whole day without food, so entirely did he live upon these English letters and newspapers, forgetful of all beside.

It

But I further noticed that there was one particular kind of writing which had more effect upon him than any other. was certainly not prettier, for it looked as if a host of daddylong-legses had been scampering over the paper and had danced their legs off upon it. I always looked out for this spider-legged writing. So did Percy; and the envelope with that crawley-crawley writing on it was always the first to be opened. I have seen him read it over and over again, kiss it, and put it into his pocket near his heart. O wonderful spiderlegged writing! you are very familiar to me now.

Mr. Wakefield, finding himself so strong, determined to remain, as the best weather was then beginning, and as everything promised so well. He refreshed himself by a short stay on board, while the vessel visited Surakana and other islands, and then she departed leaving him for his usual three months' stay.

I have only time to tell you that everything turned out well. A man-of-war called and brought back fifty of our kidnapped people, which restored our confidence, and cheered my friend. Those brought back looked down upon us. They were civilized, that is, they wore boots, carried muskets, with which, while their powder lasted, they shot down their enemies, except those they poisoned with their new "tindalo," as they called it-arsenic, as Percy called it. But when their powder and shot were done, and their boots worn out, they cut a much less dashing figure and felt behind the age, for almost everybody knew his letters by this time, and many could read and write. By degrees they crept shyly into school and took their places below those whom they had despised.

The hearts of the people were cheered, comforted, and encouraged, and one idea-School and Sunday-occupied their minds. It was something new, and, most hopeful sign of all, it had become "the fashion."

Percy bought land round about the school-house, and estab

CAPTAIN DERMOTT IS CONVERTED.

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lished William Iru and Noni comfortably upon it, to till it with the help of those who received instruction in the school.

Valé and Rukomba were a little jealous at first, but my friend gave them the plan of a new and better house for himself, of which the foundation was to be laid during his absence; for cockroaches, ants, and rats, had almost devoured the old one.

I think he had dim hopes of some one coming out to share that new house with him. What the people wanted, he said, was a Christian English lady living in their midst.

But the great event of this memorable visit has yet to be announced. Valé and Rukomba ("Infant Prodigy permitting," as Percy used to say) had been most regular at school and prayers. Curwen Kiukilu had taught Valé all he knew, and there could be no doubt from the questions he asked me, and the attention he paid, and the time-I could never get a moment to myself-he spent over his learning, that he was in earnest. So much so that when the Aurora came back to take him away, Mr. Wakefield begged them to anchor for a couple of days, and proposed to Bishop Carter the baptism of Valé and Rukomba, if after examination he should think them fit.

All was agreed to. The Aurora cast anchor at Sara, and Sambeeree flourished as it had never done before. Bishop Carter wished to compensate the poor people in some degree for the bad treatment they had received, and even Captain Dermott's plea that they'd steal the anchor did not avail. He was obliged to confess that they behaved splendidly; for Percy had lectured them before-hand in the big school-house, and put them all upon their honour; and the generous-hearted skipper made Malagai and his friend Toroa some very handsome presents for helping him to keep order.

But we must pass on to the evening fixed for the first Baptism in Pombuana. It was a happy, happy day for me and Percy, and dear Bishop Carter was so kind, and said 'yes' with a smile to everything we asked him. My own people were