of trembling brown hands. In a few minutes a roaring fire was
blazing on the sward.

Pipes sprang from loin-cloths or from behind ears, and the
incense of tobacco lifted on the still air of the evening.
Brands were improvised and hurried home to light the fires
for breadfruit-roasting, while Kahuiti laughed scornfully.

"A hundred of this tribe I have eaten, and no wonder!" he said as he
strode away toward Taaoa.

The monopoly of O Lalala was no more. Atuona Valley had turned back
the clock of time a hundred years, to destroy the perfect world in
which he sat alone. He heard the news with amazement and
consternation. For a day he sat disconsolate, unable to credit the
disaster that had befallen his carefully made plans. Then he offered
the matches at usual traders' prices, and the people mocked him. All
over the island the fire-ploughs, oldest of fire-making tools in the
world, were being driven to heat the stones for the _mei_. Atuona
had no need of matches.

The governor on his return heard the roars of derision, gathered the
story from a score of mirthful tongues, seized and sold the matches,
and appropriated the funds for a barrel of Bordeaux. And for many
weeks the unhappy O Lalala sat mournfully on the beach, gazing at
the empty sea and longing for a schooner to carry him away.