to the idolatrous rites and bloody practises peculiar to the inhabitants
of the South Sea Islands, and those chiefs who were inclined to favor
Christianity. This war continued to rage more or less violently for
several years, frequently slumbering, sometimes breaking out with sudden
violence, like the fitful eruptions of the still unextinct volcanoes in
those distant, regions.

During all this period of bloodshed and alarms, the missionary stuck to
his post. The obstinacy of hatred was being gradually overcome by the
superior pertinacity of zeal in a good cause, and the invariable
practise--so incomprehensible to the savage mind--of returning good for
evil. The result was that the Sabbath bell still sent its tinkling sound
over the verdant slopes above Sandy Cove, and the hymn of praise still
arose, morning and evening, from the little church, which, composed
partly of wood, partly of coral rock, had been erected under the eye,
and, to a large extent, by the hands, of the missionary.

But false friends within the camp were more dangerous and troublesome to
Mr. Mason than avowed enemies without. Some of the European traders,
especially, who settled on the island a few years after the missionary
had made it habitable, were the worst foes he had to contend with.

In the same vessel that brought the missionary to the island, there came
a widow, Mrs. Stuart, with her son Henry, then a stout lad of thirteen.
The widow was not, however, a member of the missionary's household. She
came there to settle with her son, who soon built her a
rudely-constructed but sufficiently habitable hut, which, in after
years, was inclosed, and greatly improved; so that it at last assumed
the dimensions of a rambling picturesque cottage, whitewashed,
brilliant, and neat in its setting of bright green.