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Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2449, 13 March 1909, Page 11 (Supplement)

The old man shuffled a pair of horny feet on the matting of tho floor and angled vigorously for a teaspoon.

“You are wise, Itarago,” continued Mirama, smiling sweetly.; “you can make words of the black patterns traced on paper, while:—l—l only know of the cigars and tho whisky and the other things that were once Missi Carto’s and axo now yours, and because I know this, you 'will make words for me soi that we may frown and swear and smile over them together.” lta.rago’s wrinkled smile was a mingling of relief and amusement.” “Draw the black patterns,” ho suggested amiably, “and I will make many words of them for you.” Then Mirama produced the letter from her sula, and old Itarago shook his head and stamped his feet very hard and told her to return it to Missi Carto at onco. This she expressed her cutiro willingness to dp if the. cigars and the whisky and tho “other things” were returned also, a stipulation that had a wonderfully quieting effect on Itarago. And so it came about that lie took the paper bag and held it over the steam of tho kettle until it- opened of its own accord, while Mirama marvelled and told herself again that there was surely no one quite so clever as old Itarago.

Then they went over to the house of Mirama’s mother and lit a candle nut, and tho old man deciphered tho letter 1 for his own .amusement, for he saw no reason in tolling the girl its contents; a tale about the great red and whit© city he had once visited would interest her far more than a letter like this. It began:

“My Dear Old Boy,—lt’s no good explaining, or saying all tho ordinary things. I’ve treated you abominably, and there is no excuse. Somehow out there you seemed so very far away, and there were two more years of Hugh’s persistency to put up with, and I just wasn’t strong enough, that’s all. By the time this reaches you I shall be married, and I can only ask you to forgive and forget.” Itarago looked very mysterious, and scratched the back of his head perplexedly, for he was fully conscious that Mirama’s eyes were searching for his across the candle-light.

“What does it mean?” she de-j manded eagerly. He looked up at her and an understanding smile lurked in the lines about liis mouth.

“It means,” he said slowly, “that your day is very near, Mirama. 1 here rs nothing more to tell you, lor that is all that matters —to you. Take this paper bag, stick down the flap as it was before, and smear it with a little mud, then put red hibiscus blossoms in your hair and g.ve it iO Missi C-arto, telling him you found it in the mangrove swamp. And then —your day will be very near.”.. And that was all Mirama could get him to say, but she was content, for it was clear that old Itarago knew all things.

At midnight Carter came out on the verandah in search of a breeze, tliough he knew there was none to be found. There was something ominous in the utter stillness of sea and sky and air —not a ripple, not a cloud, not a breath. A hot giant hand seemed to have descended on the earth to smother it in its sleep. But presently a faint breeze, warm and soft as velvet, crept up from the ocean and set the broad leaves of the banana plants aquiver in the moonlight; the silver sheet of sea was broken into tiny r.ppies, and a broad, black bank of cloud appeared on the horizon. Carter watched its coming with a sigh of relief, and leaned farther out over the balustrade to catch the blessed motion of air. The breeze stiffened, and presently tho cocoanut palms began to sway and whisper, and the boom of the surf, awakened from a long sleep, sounded out at the reef Still tho bank of cloud crept toward the moon, and the crisp patter of rain sounded on, the dry earth.

Suddenly old Rarago appeared round the bungalow wall and pointed toward tlie sky, but Carter only heard his name uttered before the moon was blotted out tho hurricane burst upon. them. The corrugated iron roof of the verandah was carried away in the first gust, and Carter listened to it rattling away into tho darkness like ineffectual stage thunder. He seized Rarago by the arm, and together they clung to the balustrade, seeing nothing, but hearing strange sounds that came indistinctly through the roar of wind and rain—the barking of dogs, tho crack of splitting timber, tlie 'crash of glass as gravel hurtled through the bungalow' windows.

Something flew out of the night and hit Carter .on the forehead; he put up his hand and brought it away wot, yet still ho clung to tho balustrade and strained his eyes into the darkness. The possibilities that lay behind the black veil of the storm at once appalled and fascinated him. It was maddening to hear so many things yet to know nothing and do nothing. Inaction was the worst of it.

He groped his way along the verandah and down the steps to the gravel path. Would the rubber stand the strain? At least bo could feel. The wind made it impossible to stand, so he dropped to his knees and crawled on through pools of water, over stones and tangled brushwood, toward the .plantation.