“What ails you?” said Lopaka, “that you stare in your chest?”

They were alone in the ship’s forecastle, and Keawe bound him to secrecy, and told all.

“This is a very strange affair,” said Lopaka; “and I fear you will be in trouble about this bottle.  But there is one point very clear - that you are sure of the trouble, and you had better have the profit in the bargain.  Make up your mind what you want with it; give the order, and if it is done as you desire, I will buy the bottle myself; for I have an idea of my own to get a schooner, and go trading through the islands.”

“That is not my idea,” said Keawe; “but to have a beautiful house and garden on the Kona Coast, where I was born, the sun shining in at the door, flowers in the garden, glass in the windows, pictures on the walls, and toys and fine carpets on the tables, for all the world like the house I was in this day — only a storey higher, and with balconies all about like the King’s palace; and to live there without care and make merry with my friends and relatives.”

“Well,” said Lopaka, “let us carry it back with us to Hawaii; and if all comes true, as you suppose, I will buy the bottle, as I said, and ask a schooner.”

Upon that they were agreed, and it was not long before the ship returned to Honolulu, carrying Keawe and Lopaka, and the bottle.  They were scarce come ashore when they met a friend upon the beach, who began at once to condole with Keawe.

“I do not know what I am to be condoled about,” said Keawe.

“Is it possible you have not heard,” said the friend, “your uncle — that good old man — is dead, and your cousin — that beautiful boy — was drowned at sea?”

Keawe was filled with sorrow, and, beginning to weep and to lament, he forgot about the bottle.  But Lopaka was thinking to himself, and presently, when Keawe’s grief was a little abated, “I have been thinking,” said Lopaka.  “Had not your uncle lands in Hawaii, in the district of Kau?”

“No,” said Keawe, “not in Kau; they are on the mountain-side — a little way south of Hookena.”

“These lands will now be yours?” asked Lopaka.

“And so they will,” says Keawe, and began again to lament for his relatives.

“No,” said Lopaka, “do not lament at present.  I have a thought in my mind.  How if this should be the doing of the bottle?  For here is the place ready for your house.”

“If this be so,” cried Keawe, “it is a very ill way to serve me by killing my relatives.  But it may be, indeed; for it was in just such a station that I saw the house with my mind’s eye.”

“The house, however, is not yet built,” said Lopaka.

“No, nor like to be!” said Keawe; “for though my uncle has some coffee and ava and bananas, it will not be more than will keep me in comfort; and the rest of that land is the black lava.”

“Let us go to the lawyer,” said Lopaka; “I have still this idea in my mind.”