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“Where is Fasto?” she asked apprehensively.

“Never ye mind about her; she’ll not be back till dark.”

While Williams lingered in the bush and his mates toiled up from the cove with the day’s last load of plank, Prudence sat by the house, stripping thorns from a heap of pandanus leaves beside her. She was scarcely sixteen, small of stature and delicately formed, with a pale golden skin and copper-red hair.

She turned her head as she heard the sound of a footfall on the path. From the corner of her eye she saw Tararu approaching. Bending over her work as if unaware of his coming, she gave a little start when he spoke.

“Where are the others?” he asked.

“Aué! You frightened me!”

Tararu smiled, seating himself at her side. “Afraid of me? I must teach you better, some day when Mills is not so close.... Where are the other women?”

“Collecting leaves.”

“You have worked well. How many reeds of raufara are needed?”

“Two thousand,” said Prudence. “One thousand eight hundred and seventy are done.”

With eyes cast down upon her work, she began to sing softly, a rhythmic and monotonous little melody sung in Tahiti by the strolling players of the arioi society. Tararu bent his head to listen, chuckling silently at the broad double-meaning in the first verse. She began the second verse, and as he listened to the soft, childish voice, the man regarded her intently.