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“Hearken to us, Ta’aroa!

Grant our petitions.

Preserve the population of this land.

Preserve us, and let us live through thee.

Preserve us! We are men. Thou art our god!”

The chanting ceased, and a moment of profound silence followed; then the priest concluded: “O Ta’aroa, we have awakened thee. Now sleep!”

The ceremony was over. The casket had been conveyed to its niche at the base of the pyramid, and Minarii had returned to the small hut near-by to resume his customary garments, when voices were heard from the thicket and a moment later Mills and McCoy appeared at the edge of the clearing. They halted at the sight of the native men and then came forward to the fenced enclosure. McCoy gazed at the stonework admiringly.

“A braw bit o’ work,” he remarked. “And the six of ye built this, Tetahiti?”

The native regarded him gravely. “This is our marae,” he explained, “where we come to worship our god.”

“What’s that he says?” Mills asked, contemptuously. Without waiting for a reply, he passed through the gate and stood surveying the marae. He was about to mount the stone platform when Minarii, who had now returned, laid a hand on his arm.