company, laid down only a pair of kings, a six, a nine, and a jack.
O Lalala, without a smile, disclosed a pair of aces and three
meaningless companions.

The game was over. The men of Hiva-oa had thrown their last spear.
Magic had been unavailing; the demon foreigner could read through
the cards. Kivi fell back helpless, grief and _kava_ prostrating him.
The torches died down as the winner picked up his spoils and
prepared to retire.

At this moment a man dashed madly through the grove, displaying two
boxes and a handful of separate matches. O Lalala at first refused
to play for this trifling stake, but in a storm of menacing cries
consented to cut the pack for double or nothing, and in a twinkling
extinguished the last hope.

The last comer had looted the governor's palace. The ultimate match
in the Marquesas had been lost to the Tahitian. He now had the
absolute monopoly of light and of cooking.

Soberly the rest of the valley dwellers went home to unlighted huts.

Next morning, after a cold breakfast, I was early afoot in the valley.
On the way to the trader's store I beheld the complacent winner in
his cabin. Through the open door I saw that every inch of the walls
was covered with stacked boxes of matches, yellow fronts exposed. On
his mat in the middle of this golden treasury O Lalala reclined,
smoking at his leisure, and smiling the happy smile of Midas.
Outside a cold wind swept down from Calvary Peak, and a gray sky hid
the sun.