“Why do you act so foolishly?  Why do you take a log of wood and carve it, and then offer it food?  It is only fit to be burned.  Some day soon you shall make these very gods fuel for fire.”  So with the companion who came to help him, brown Papeiha went in and out of the island just as brave Paul went in and out in the island of Cyprus and Wilfrid in Britain.  He would take his stand, now under a grove of bananas on a great stone, and now in a village, where the people from the huts gathered round, and again on the beach, where he would lift up his voice above the boom of the ocean breakers to tell the story of Jesus.  And some of those degraded savages became Christians.

One day he was surprised to see one of the priests come to him leading his ten-year-old boy.

“Take care of my boy,” said the priest.  “I am going to burn my god, and I do not want my god’s anger to hurt the boy.  Ask your God to protect him.”  So the priest went home.

Next morning quite early, before the heat of the sun was great, Papeiha looked out and saw the priest tottering along with bent and aching shoulders.  On his back was his cumbrous wooden god.  Behind the priest came a furious crowd, waving their arms and crying out: 

“Madman, madman, the god will kill you.”

“You may shout,” answered the priest, “but you will not change me.  I am going to worship Jehovah, the God of Papeiha.”  And with that he threw down the god at the feet of the teachers.  One of them ran and brought a saw, and first cut off its head and then sawed it into logs.  Some of the Rarotongans rushed away in dread.  Others—­even some of the newly converted Christians—­hid in the bush and peered through the leaves to see what would happen.  Papeiha lit a fire; the logs were thrown on; the first Rarotongan idol was burned.

“You will die,” cried the priests of the fallen god.  But to show that the god was just a log of wood, the teachers took a bunch of bananas, placed them on the ashes where the fire had died down, and roasted them.  Then they sat down and ate the bananas.

The watching, awe-struck people looked to see the teachers fall dead, but nothing happened.  The islanders then began to wonder whether, after all, the God of Papeiha was not the true God.  Within a year they had got together hundreds of their wooden idols, and had burned them in enormous bonfires which flamed on the beach and lighted up the dark background of trees.  Those bonfires could be seen far out across the Pacific Ocean, like a beacon light.

To-day the flames of love which Papeiha bravely lighted, through perils by water and club and cannibal feast, have shone right across the ocean, and some of the grandchildren of those very Rarotongans who were cannibals when Papeiha went there, have sailed away, as we shall see later on, to preach Papeiha’s gospel of the love of God to the far-off cannibal Papuans on the steaming shores of New Guinea.