’Our talk being ended, I found a great circle of men assembled on the outside with a pile of yams as usual in the centre for me.  I was glad to see a small pile also for the Frenchman.  I made my speech in his presence, but he knows not Lifu.  “Be kind to the French, give them food and lodging.  This is a duty which you are bound to pay to all men; but if they try to persuade you to change the teaching which you have received, don’t listen to them.  Who taught you to leave off war and evil habits, to build chapels, to pray?  Remember that.  Trust the teachers who have taught you the Word of God.”

’This was the kind of thing I said.  Then off we set—­two miles of loose sand at a rattling pace, as I wanted to shake off some 200 people who were crowding about me.  Then turning to the west, climbed some coral rocks very quickly, and found myself with only half my own attendants, and no strangers.  Sat down, drank a cocoa-nut, and waited a long time for John, who can’t walk well, and then quietly went on the remaining eight or nine miles to Zebedee’s place, a Samoan teacher.  They were very attentive, and gave me some supper.  They had a bed, which was, of course, given up to me in spite of opposition.  They regard a missionary as something superhuman almost.  Sometimes I can’t make them eat and drink with me; they think it would be presumptuous.  Large meeting of people in the afternoon, and again the following morning, to whom I said much what I had already said at We.  Then fifteen miles over to Apollo’s place on the west coast, a grand bay, with perfectly calm water, delicious in the winter months.  Comfortable quarters; Apollo a cleverish, free-spoken fellow.

’I went, on the same afternoon, two miles of very bad road to visit the French priest, who is living here.  More talk and of a very friendly nature.  He has been eighteen months at San Cristoval, but knows not the language; at Woodlark Island, New Caledonia, &c.  We talked in French and English.  He knows English fairly, but preferred to talk French.  This day’s work was nineteen miles.

Slept at Apollo’s.  Next morning went a little way in canoes and walked six miles to Toma’s place; meeting held, speech as usual, present of yams, pig, &c.  Walked back the six miles, started in double canoe for Gaicha, the other side of the bay:  wind cold, some difficulty in getting ashore.  Walked by the bad path to Apollo’s and slept there again; Frenchman came in during the evening.  Next day, Friday, meeting in the chapel.  Walked twenty miles back to We, where I am now writing.  Went the twenty miles with no socks; feet sore and shoes worn to pieces, cutting off leather as I came along.  Nothing but broken bottles equals jagged coral.  Paths went so that you never take three steps in the same direction, and every minute trip against logs, coral hidden by long leaves, arid weeds trailing over the path.  Often for half a mile you jump from one bit of coral to another.  No shoes can stand it, and I was tired, I assure you.  Indeed, for the last two days, if I stopped for a minute to drink a nut, my legs were so stiff that they did not get into play for five minutes or so.