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Five natives were at the oars of the boat that took Nada and McGuire ashore; and it shot the surf with bound on bound; and when its bottom scraped, the largest of these natives, Sanniuu, carried her twenty yards over the dry shingle. She gave his bare shoulders a rewarding pat, and was placed down with hardly a drop of spray having touched her.

The boat went back to the schooner, returning with Williams, and Paullen on a stretcher made of sail and oars.

Nada was excited by the familiar landmarks, and she pointed about, talking rapidly. Everything that she saw meant something. Childhood came back with a rush; for a little while it was almost as if she had merely dreamed of the places and people known in her absence.

"There. Ooo-oo! Right there, out of that tree, I saw a pili fall on a man—a white man, too! I was standing by father, my hand in his, here where we are now! The man laughed, and killed the little lizard. You know, its touch is the warning of death. He went on down to the beach—this very beach. He was a good swimmer, but what of that? The surf broke him on the coral. They carried his body up—right up this trail as they are now carrying——"