The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1903-08-11

name is Brickwood. Mr.. Champion, my
daughter, Emaline." A soft, musical
voice acknowledged the introduction,
While dark, velvety eyes looked shyly
into his. Then some one came to claim
her for a promised waltz and she float
ed away, leaving the fragrance of jas
mine trailing behind here.
The two men lighted cigars and talk
ed. Champion told enough of his affairs
to win Bfiekwood's confidence The
elder man had settled on the island
when it had few white occupants. had
married a ll-blooded native woman.
the daughter of chief He was now
postmaster He spoke of his daughter
with deep tenderness. She had been
educated at st. Andrews priory, a
school in charge of three English wom-
en-, nuns of culture and refinement.
But she was just a simple native child,
after all. he said, and he liked her so.
Long after the dancers had departed
Champion sat on the veranda, putting
clouds of smoke into the feathery
moonlight, and thinking of a beautiful
girl with bronze skin, gowned in soft
silk and crepe, her only ornament a
crown of Jasmine flowers, the odor of
which still fingered with him. He had
accepted an invitation. from her father
to dine at their cottage the next day,
and he longed for the morrow that he
might see her again. She seemed a
part of the music and moonlight of this
new, delightful world. For the first
time in years he retired that night
without looking at the portrait in the
back of his watch.
Into a vine-clad arbor of roses
Champion passed to be welcomed by
the vision of the previous evening.
Again he drank in the odor of the jas
flower hn In,
elysium, entranced by the luster of
those fawn-like eyes. again he heard
the caressing tones of that flute-like
voice. He was as one dazed by some
strange spell, having it's birth in
beauty new to him. But when her
mother came into the room he felt a
sudden shock. as though he had fallen
from a height She was an enormous
woman, dark copper In color, with ir-
regular features. deep, luminous eyes,
broad. fiat nose and straight black
hair She wore but one garment, a
loose robe of bright red silk. Could
this be the mother of the beautiful
creature who had so enraptured him?
There was no resemblance save in her
voice. which was low and mellow like
that of the girl. She sang native songs.
drumming an accompaniment on
small instrument, half guitar, half
banjo. One of these songs. a wild.
weird chant, moved the Englisman so
that he asked for an Interpretation of
1t. She told him it was the spirit song
of the Pail Many years ago there
were several tribes on the island. They
were continually at war with each
other. Finally two great chiefs formed
all the people into two armies and
went out to battle for supremacy. The
struggle was long and bloody. Many
thousands were slain. At last Kane
hameha defeated the followers of Oahua
and drove them up the Newauna valley
to the top of the crater of Pail. On this
mountain the last battle was fought
and the Oahua and all his followers
were driven or thrown over the cliff.
After the great slaughter a mist arose
and began to fall like tears on the
dead. 1t had never ceased. And In
this mist the spirit of Pail. the protect
ing spirit of the natives. has her
home. When anyone wrongs a de-
scendant of a chieftain's line the spirit
arises out of the mist and wreakS
speedy vengeance.
While she recounted this legend the
woman seemed to be inspired. Her
immense body swayed back and forth
in time to her words. her half-closed
eyes burned with deep fires. Cramp-
ton felt his blood chill in his veins.
The story fascinated him. 1t seemed
to have some personal equation. to be
in some subtle manner linked with his
own future. He left the house his
brain in a whirl The beauty and gen.
tleness of the daughter contrasted so
wildly with the wild savagery of the
mother. And the wild chant that had
so transformed her still sounded in his
ears. He was half resolved to break
off the acquaintance. But as he turned
down the long veranda spray of jas
mine fell upon his shoulder and he
caught the soft aloha which the girl
had already taught him was the low
ers' greeting and parting salutation
The spirit of the Pail faded from his
mind and he fell asleep that night with
the memory of that musical message
whispering to his heart.
Time braided the days into ropes of
flowers for Champion. The languor of
the climate stole into his blood and
lulled him to sweet security. With
Emaline he roamed about the island,
enraptured with it's beauty and his love
of her. The picture of the blue-eyed
Saxon girl in the back of his watch
was forgotten. England, with its turgld
civilization, seemed far away, unreal.
He was intoxicated with his own
thoughts. This half-wild, impulsive
creature, who chung to him with such
simple faith, was so in harmony with
the surroundings, SO much part of the
fowery little kingdom in the blue Pa
cific, that he could not separate her
from it, nor himself from either. 1t was
as If he had always lived this indolent
dream life. They walked and rode and
swan together. She taught him the
liquid love words of her people, which
was like the music Of shallow waters
ripping over pebbles. Sometimes they
wandered to the summit of Pail and
watched the misty tears falling into the
depths where slept the heroes of an al
most forgotten race The place had
strange attraction for him, and some
times he coaxed the girl into repeating
the legend. But to her light heart the
tragic tale held no charms. She was
like fawn that loves to play in the
sunlight, without thought of the past
or the future. He was sufficient to
her.
But one day there came a vessel into
the harbor and he awoke. His days OF
drifting were over. He must choose
between ancestral home In civilized
country and this half-barbaric exist
enee; take up the duties and burdens
of activity, or embrace inaction; be-
come for good and all drone In the