This evoked a sally of laughter, in which of course I joined.  I must explain that the natives of the Tokelau Group, among whom I had lived, through constantly chewing the tough drupes of the fruit of the fala (pandanus palm) wear out their teeth prematurely, and are sometimes termed “toothless” by other natives of the South Pacific.  However, I was to have my own little joke at Viliamu’s expense later on.

Just at this time a sudden squall, accompanied by torrents of rain, came down upon us from the eastward, and whilst Mareko and his boys kept us head to wind—­none of the canoes were anchored—­I took the opportunity of getting ready two of my own lines, each treble-hooked, for the boys.  Their own were old and rotten, and had parted so often that they were now too short to be of use, and, besides that, the few remaining hooks of soft wire were too small.  As soon as the squall was over I showed Mareko what I had done.  He nodded and smiled, but said I should try and break off the barbs—­his boys did not understand them as well as native-made hooks.  This was quickly accomplished with a heavy knife, and the youngsters began to haul up fish two and three at a time at such a rate that the canoe soon became deep in the water outside and very full inside.

“A few more, Mareko,” I said, “and then we’ll go ashore, unload, and come back again.  I want to tease that old man.”

We caught all we could possibly carry in another quarter of an hour, and I was confident that our take exceeded that of any other canoe.  This was because the natives would carefully watch their stone sinkers descend, and use every care to keep them from being entangled in the coral, whilst my line, which had a 12 oz. leaden sinker, would plump quickly to the bottom in the midst of the hungry fish; consequently, although I lost some hooks by fouling and now and then dragged up a bunch of coral, I was catching more fish than any one else.  And I was not going to let my reputation suffer for the sake of a few hooks.  So we coiled up our lines on the outrigger platform, and taking up our paddles headed shoreward, taking care to pass near Viliamu’s canoe.  He hailed me and asked me for a pipe of tobacco.

“I shall give it to you when we return,” I said.

“When you return!  Why, where are you going?” he asked.

“On shore, you silly old woman!  I have been showing these boys how to fish for gatala, and we go because the canoe is sinking.  When we return these two tamariki (infants) shall show you how to fish now that they have learnt from me.”

There was a loud laugh at this, and as the old man took the jest very good-naturedly I brought up alongside, showed him our take, and gave him a stick of tobacco.  The astonishment of himself and his crew of three at the quantity of fish we had afforded me much satisfaction, though I could not help feeling that our luck was not due to my own skill alone.