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"I'm the little boy, Mauri--George McLeod."

He regretted his abruptness. Mauri had been only a vague memory of his childhood and he supposed that she must have forgotten him long since. He now realized that the forgetting had been on his part. Tears brimmed into her eyes, and in a manner that touched him deeply she stepped forward and kissed him on both cheeks; then she clung to him, unable to speak. She raised her head and held him at arm's length, her mouth quivering as she gazed at him.

"George, do you remember what you called me when you were little? You couldn't say 'Mauri' then. It was always 'Mau'i.'"

"Did I?"

"And I called you 'Toti.' Did you know me just now?"

"I guessed it, Mauri. I'd even forgotten your name--think of that! It was Mr. Tyson, in Papeete, who told me."

"Of course. You were such a baby when I had to let you go."

"But I believe I remember that time. I remember how I hung on to you when some strange woman came to take me away. It was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Mr. Tyson had to send you back to England. I took you to Tautira and he met us there with the Frenchwoman who was going with you on the steamer. It was a sad day for me, Toti. I wanted to keep you."