Keola went up the beach, which was of shining sand and coral, strewn with singular shells; and he thought in his heart —

“How do I not know this beach?  I will come here again and gather shells.”

In front of him was a line of palms against the sky; not like the palms of the Eight Islands, but tall and fresh and beautiful, and hanging out withered fans like gold among the green, and he thought in his heart —

“It is strange I should not have found this grove.  I will come here again, when it is warm, to sleep.”  And he thought, “How warm it has grown suddenly!” For it was winter in Hawaii, and the day had been chill.  And he thought also, “Where are the grey mountains?  And where is the high cliff with the hanging forest and the wheeling birds?” And the more he considered, the less he might conceive in what quarter of the islands he was fallen.

In the border of the grove, where it met the beach, the herb was growing, but the tree further back.  Now, as Keola went toward the tree, he was aware of a young woman who had nothing on her body but a belt of leaves.

“Well!” thought Keola, “they are not very particular about their dress in this part of the country.”  And he paused, supposing she would observe him and escape; and seeing that she still looked before her, stood and hummed aloud.  Up she leaped at the sound.  Her face was ashen; she looked this way and that, and her mouth gaped with the terror of her soul.  But it was a strange thing that her eyes did not rest upon Keola.

“Good day,” said he.  “You need not be so frightened; I will not eat you.”  And he had scarce opened his mouth before the young woman fled into the bush.

“These are strange manners,” thought Keola.  And, not thinking what he did, ran after her.

As she ran, the girl kept crying in some speech that was not practised in Hawaii, yet some of the words were the same, and he knew she kept calling and warning others.  And presently he saw more people running — men, women and children, one with another, all running and crying like people at a fire.  And with that he began to grow afraid himself, and returned to Kalamake bringing the leaves.  Him he told what he had seen.

“You must pay no heed,” said Kalamake.  “All this is like a dream and shadows.  All will disappear and be forgotten.”

“It seemed none saw me,” said Keola.

“And none did,” replied the sorcerer.  “We walk here in the broad sun invisible by reason of these charms.  Yet they hear us; and therefore it is well to speak softly, as I do.”

With that he made a circle round the mat with stones, and in the midst he set the leaves.

“It will be your part,” said he, “to keep the leaves alight, and feed the fire slowly.  While they blaze (which is but for a little moment) I must do my errand; and before the ashes blacken, the same power that brought us carries us away.  Be ready now with the match; and do you call me in good time lest the flames burn out and I be left.”