the many-coloured clothing of the natives and the piles of fruit.

But not even the beauty and the welcome warmth of the

morning, not even these naval movements, so interesting to

sailors and to idlers, could engage the attention of the

outcasts. They were still cold at heart, their mouths sour from

the want of steep, their steps rambling from the lack of food;

and they strung like lame geese along the beach in a disheartened

silence. It was towards the town they moved; towards the town

whence smoke arose, where happier folk were breakfasting; and as

they went, their hungry eyes were upon all sides, but they were

only scouting for a meal.

A small and dingy schooner lay snug against the quay, with

which it was connected by a plank. On the forward deck, under

a spot of awning, five Kanakas who made up the crew, were

squatted round a basin of fried feis, and drinking coffee from

tin mugs.

'Eight bells: knock off for breakfast!' cried the captain with a

miserable heartiness. 'Never tried this craft before; positively

my first appearance; guess I'll draw a bumper house.'

He came close up to where the plank rested on the grassy

quay; turned his back upon the schooner, and began to whistle

that lively air, 'The Irish Washerwoman.' It caught the ears of

the Kanaka seamen like a preconcerted signal; with one accord

they looked up from their meal and crowded to the ship's side,

fei in hand and munching as they looked. Even as a poor brown

Pyrenean bear dances in the streets of English towns under his

master's baton; even so, but with how much more of spirit and

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