The daily morning journal and courier., 1901-08-07


 POLA AND TUSITALA IN vAILIMA.
 It was not long before Pola was per- fectly at home in VaiIima. He would arrive in the morning early, attended by a serving man of his family who walked meekly in the young chiefs footsteps, carrying the usual gift for me. Sometimes 1t was sugar-cane or a wreath woven by the village girls, or single fish wrapped in piece of ba- nana-leaf, or few fresh-water prawns, or even bunch of wayside flowers; my little son seldom came empty-handed.
 It was Pola who really taught me the Samoan language. Ordinarily the na- tives cannot simplify their remarks for foreigners, but Pola invented a sort of Samoan baby-talk forame; sometimes if I could not understand he would shake me with his fierce little brown hands, crying, Stupid! stupid." But generally he was extremely patient with me, trying a sentence in half dozen different ways, with his bright eyes fixed eagerly on my face, and when the sense of what he said dawned uon me and I repeated 1t to prove that underst ood, his own countenance would light up with an expression of absolute pride and triumph, "Good" he would say, approvingly, Great is your high chief wisdom!"
 After MT. Stevenson death so many of his Samoan friends begged for his photograph that we sent to sydney for q supply, which was soon exhausted One afternoon Pola5 came in and re- in a very hurt and aggrieved manner. that he had been neglected in the way of photographs.
 But your father the Chief, has a large fine name"
 True" said Pola. But that is not mine. I have the box presented to me by your high chief goodness. It has a little cover, and there I wish to put the sun shadow of Tusitala, the beloved chief whom we all revere, but l more than the others because he was the head of my clan"
 'To be sure" said and looked about for a photograph. I found a picture cut from weekly paper, one I remem- bered that Mir Stevenson himself had lisliked He would have been pleased had he seen the scornful way Pola threw the picture on the floor.
 T will not have that"' he cried. Tt s pig faced. It is not the shadow of ,ur chief" He leaned against the door md wept.
 T have nothing else, Pola,' I protest ,d. Truly, if I had another picture of r, f tf
 He frightened up at once. "There is he one in the smoking room" he said. where he walks back and forth. That ,leases me, for it looks like him. He 'eferred to an oil painting of MT. Ste ,enson by Sargent. I explained that I .ould not give him that. 'Then I will ake the round one," he said, "of tin" This last was the bronze bas-relief by St. Gaudens I must have laughed in for he went out deeply | lurt. Hearing q strange noise in the | lall an hour or so later, l opened the loor, and discovered Pola lying on his ! ace, weeping bitterly.
 What are you crying about?" I | sked. \ "The shadow, the shadow" he sobbed. | I want the sun- shadow of Tusitala," I knocked at my mothers door across | he hall, and at the sight of that tear | tained face her heart melted, and he | vas given the last phot ograph we had, | which he wrapped In & banana-leaf, ty- l ng it carefully with ribbon of grass Mrs. Isabel Strong in Scribner's Mag | zine.