"But death stuttered," I smiled.

"It was a brave deed you did, master," he replied, "and Death was not
vile enough to speak."

"Why do you 'master' me?" I demanded, with a show of hurt feelings.
"We have exchanged names. To you I am Otoo. To me you are Charley. And
between you and me, forever and forever, you shall be Charley, and I
shall be Otoo. It is the way of the custom. And when we die, if it
does happen that we live again somewhere beyond the stars and the sky,
still shall you be Charley to me, and I Otoo to you."

"Yes, master," he answered, his eyes luminous and soft with joy.

"There you go!" I cried indignantly.

"What does it matter what my lips utter?" he argued. "They are only my
lips. But I shall think Otoo always. Whenever I think of myself, I
shall think of you. Whenever men call me by name, I shall think of
you. And beyond the sky and beyond the stars, always and forever, you
shall be Otoo to me. Is it well, master?"

I hid my smile, and answered that it was well.

We parted at Papeete. I remained ashore to recuperate; and he went on
in a cutter to his own island, Bora Bora. Six weeks later he was back.
I was surprised, for he had told me of his wife, and said that he was
returning to her, and would give over sailing on far voyages.