After this there came a pause.  Then suddenly Bastin took up his parable in the Polynesian tongue which—­to a certain extent—­he had acquired with so much pains.

“What is this place called?” he asked slowly and distinctly, pausing between each word.

His audience shook their heads and he tried again, putting the accents on different syllables.  Behold! some bright spirit understood him and answered: 

“Orofena.”

“That means a hill, or an island, or a hill in an island,” whispered Bickley to me.

“Who is your God?” asked Bastin again.

The point seemed one upon which they were a little doubtful, but at last the chief answered, “Oro.  He who fights.”

“In other words, Mars,” said Bickley.

“I will give you a better one,” said Bastin in the same slow fashion.

Thinking that he referred to himself these children of Nature contemplated his angular form doubtfully and shook their heads.  Then for the first time one of the men who was wearing a mask and a wicker crate on his head, spoke in a hollow voice, saying: 

“If you try Oro will eat you up.”

“Head priest!” said Bickley, nudging me.  “Old Bastin had better be careful or he will get his teeth into him and call them Oro’s.”

Another pause, after which the man in a feather cloak with the growth on his neck that a servant was supporting, said: 

“I am Marama, the chief of Orofena.  We have never seen men like you before, if you are men.  What brought you here and with you that fierce and terrible animal, or evil spirit which makes a noise and bites?”

Now Bickley pretended to consult me who stood brooding and majestic, that is if I can be majestic.  I whispered something and he answered: 

“The gods of the wind and the sea.”

“What nonsense,” ejaculated Bastin, “there are no such things.”

“Shut up,” I said, “we must use similes here,” to which he replied: 

“I don’t like similes that tamper with the truth.”

“Remember Neptune and Aeolus,” I suggested, and he lapsed into consideration of the point.

“We knew that you were coming,” said Marama.  “Our doctors told us all about you a moon ago.  But we wish that you would come more gently, as you nearly washed away our country.”

After looking at me Bickley replied: 

“How thankful should you be that in our kindness we have spared you.”

“What do you come to do?” inquired Marama again.  After the usual formula of consulting me Bickley answered: 

“We come to take that mountain (he meant lump) off your neck and make you beautiful; also to cure all the sickness among your people.”

“And I come,” broke in Bastin, “to give you new hearts.”

These announcements evidently caused great excitement.  After consultation Marama answered: 

“We do not want new hearts as the old ones are good, but we wish to be rid of lumps and sicknesses.  If you can do this we will make you gods and worship you and give you many wives.”  (Here Bastin held up his hands in horror.) “When will you begin to take away the lumps?”