They were standing by the canoe, in which a woman was seated, and behind them stood the last habitable houses of the village, and behind the houses three coconut trees, hard against the dazzling pale blue of a sky that swept up to burning cobalt. Not a soul was to be seen on all that beach but the two old men.
Then came Le Moan’s voice as she hailed them. “O he, Palia, where are the people, and what are you doing with that canoe?”
And Palia’s voice answering.
“The word came after you put out this morning calling us to the northern beach for the building. We go. The rest have gone already in the big canoe that brought the word.”
Dick at once knew. Aioma yesterday had declared the work far enough advanced to call in all hands including Palia and Tafuta, and the remaining people of the southern tribe.
“Then go,” came Le Moan’s voice as her canoe stranded on the shelving sand, “but leave me those things and a knife.” She went to the canoe and took out some matting, a basket made of coconut sennit and a knife; as Dick brought his canoe ashore Palia and the others were putting off.
“You will follow us?” cried Palia as the paddles struck the water.
“Some time,” replied Le Moan. She turned and began to build a fire to cook the fish she had caught and a breadfruit. Dick, seated on the sand with his knees up and his eyes following the far-off canoe,
