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“Let him remember,” said Smith, “a foot to the inch and he can’t go wrong, I’ll warrant!”

He handed the model to Hitihiti, who took it with every sign of pleasure and gave me an order to one of his servants, who soon appeared leading a pair of fine hogs.

“They are for you, Smith,” I explained, but my hammock man shook his head regretfully.

“No use, sir,” he said. “Mr. Bligh won’t let us keep the pigs our taios send on board. But if the old chief would give me a sucking pig, me and my lass could cook and eat it in no time.” He smacked his lips and gave me a hopeful glance.

Hitihiti smiled with pleasure at the request and directed that Smith should go with one of the Indians to pick out the pig that pleased him best. A few minutes later the seaman passed us, his sweetheart at his side and a squealing young porker under his arm. They disappeared into a thicket near the beach, and presently we heard louder squeals, followed by silence, and saw a column of smoke rising above the trees. I have a fancy that the Indian law which prohibited women from dining with men was broken that day.