drew from her earring-hole a clay pipe, the husband lighted it, and it was handed to my unfortunate wife, who knew not how to refuse the incommodious favour; and when they were all come to our house, the pair sat down beside her on the floor, and improved the occasion with prayer.  From that day they were our family friends; bringing thrice a day the beautiful island garlands of white flowers, visiting us any evening, and frequently carrying us down to their own maniap’ in return, the woman leading Mrs. Stevenson by the hand like one child with another.

Nan Tok’, the husband, was young, extremely handsome, of the most approved good humour, and suffering in his precarious station from suppressed high spirits.  Nei Takauti, the wife, was getting old; her grown son by a former marriage had just hanged himself before his mother’s eyes in despair at a well-merited rebuke.  Perhaps she had never been beautiful, but her face was full of character, her eye of sombre fire.  She was a high chief-woman, but by a strange exception for a person of her rank, was small, spare, and sinewy, with lean small hands and corded neck.  Her full dress of an evening was invariably a white chemise—­and for adornment, green leaves (or sometimes white blossoms) stuck in her hair and thrust through her huge earring-holes.  The husband on the contrary changed to view like a kaleidoscope.  Whatever pretty thing my wife might have given to Nei Takauti—­a string of beads, a ribbon, a piece of bright fabric—­appeared the next evening on the person of Nan Tok’.  It was plain he was a clothes-horse; that he wore livery; that, in a word, he was his wife’s wife.  They reversed the parts indeed, down to the least particular; it was the husband who showed himself the ministering angel in the hour of pain, while the wife displayed the apathy and heartlessness of the proverbial man.

When Nei Takauti had a headache Nan Tok’ was full of attention and concern.  When the husband had a cold and a racking toothache the wife heeded not, except to jeer.  It is always the woman’s part to fill and light the pipe; Nei Takauti handed hers in silence to the wedded page; but she carried it herself, as though the page were not entirely trusted.  Thus she kept the money, but it was he who ran the errands, anxiously sedulous.  A cloud on her face dimmed instantly his beaming looks; on an early visit to their maniap’ my wife saw he had cause to be wary.  Nan Tok’ had a friend with him, a giddy young thing, of his own age and sex; and they had worked themselves into that stage of jocularity when consequences are too often disregarded.  Nei Takauti mentioned her own name.  Instantly Nan Tok’ held up two fingers, his friend did likewise, both in an ecstasy of slyness.  It was plain the lady had two names; and from the nature of their merriment, and the wrath that gathered on her brow, there must be something ticklish in the second.  The husband pronounced it; a well-directed cocoa-nut from the hand of his wife caught him on the side of the head, and the voices and the mirth of these indiscreet young gentlemen ceased for the day.