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"Yes; all those books were his. He was an American. It was just after we were married that we came here to live. We built this house at that time."

"How long was that before my father and mother came?"

"Let me see... four years, I think."

McLeod halted before a framed photograph that hung on the wall by a writing table.

"What a lovely girl! Who is she?"

"My daughter, Naia."

"Oh.... I didn't know that you had a daughter."

"Mr. Tyson didn't tell you?"

"Perhaps. But he told us so many things, and I was trying to take them all in at once.... You must be very proud of her. How old is she?"

"It was Mr. Tyson who took the photograph one time when he came here. My husband thought Naia looked very much like a sister of his who died when she was about our daughter's age."

"When was this taken?"

"Two years ago. Naia was fourteen then."

"Why... she must have been born when I was here!"

"Yes; she was a tiny baby when you left--four months old.... Aué, Toti! Here we stand talking, and you must be very hungry, after that long paddle down the lagoon. Come, I will get you some lunch. It is time."