Auwae's father repeats a legend handed down through generations of his family. "More than four hundred years ago," he says, "not far from this very spot, there lived a great chief. His home was not Hawaii, but he came from a distant land to fight and win honour under the king of this island. He became powerful, and was much loved by the people. His relatives followed, and settled here with him, and all went merry.

"The time for the monthly festival drew near; games, races, and trials of strength were planned to make a pleasant holiday for all. The chief himself was to take part. He and his dearest friend were both well trained in sliding down the steep hillsides on their polished sledges; so they agreed to vie with each other at the festival to see who could win.

"How seldom, friends, these sledges are used now! What a grand sport it was! I have a sledge at home used by my father, not more than six inches wide, and at least eight feet long. The runners are finely curved and polished. You must all have seen it.

"But to come back to my story. The chief knew well just how to throw himself upon the sledge; he knew the difficult art of keeping his sledge under him as he slid down the steep race track; he was able to guide his sledge with the greatest skill.

"But his friend was as skilful as himself, so the people expected a close contest. Many wagers of bunches of bananas and fat pigs were made.

"The time came, and the two men went up the hillside with their sledges under their arms. They laughed and chatted, and had just reached the top when a beautiful young woman suddenly appeared before them.

"She bowed before the chief, and said, 'Will you try the race with me instead of your friend?'

"'What!' he exclaimed, 'with a woman?'

"'What difference should that make, if she is greater and more skilful than you?' was her answer.

"The chief was angered, but he only replied, 'Then take my friend's sledge and make ready.'

"And so these two, the chief and the strange, beautiful woman, rushed down the hillside. For a single moment she lost her balance, and the chief reached the goal first.

"How the people cheered and shouted! But the woman silently pointed toward the top, as much as to say, 'Let us have one more trial.'

"Again the chief climbed the hillside, this time with the woman by his side. As they were about to start once more, the stranger exclaimed:

"'Your sledge is better than mine; if you wish to be just, you will exchange yours for mine.'

"'Why should I?' answered the chief. 'I do not know you. You are not a sister or wife of mine.' And he turned without further heed and flung himself down the steep descent, supposing the woman was also on the way.

"But not so! She stamped her foot upon the ground, and suddenly a stream of burning lava poured forth and rushed down the hillside. The chief reached the foot of the hill and turned to see the fiery torrent destroying everything in its way.

"Too late, he understood everything now. The strange woman was none other than the goddess Pele, who had taken this form to sport with men. He had angered her, and she was about to destroy him and all his people.

"And look! There rode the goddess, herself, on the crest of the foremost wave of lava. What should he do? He instantly turned aside and fled with his friend to a small hill from which he could see the awful death of his people.

"And now the valleys were filled with the burning torrent. Pele did not intend to let him escape. Nothing was left but the ocean. He reached it just as his brother drew near in his canoe. Together they fled to their old home across the waters, and never again dared to visit Hawaii, lest the dreadful goddess should come forth against him."

When the story is finished, tales are told of the old days of war and bloodshed; when the word of the chief was law to his people; when no life was safe from the power of the priests and chiefs. Then, indeed, were surely needed the cities of refuge still standing on this island.

"It is at least a hundred years ago," says old Hiko, "that my grandfather fled to the Pahonua, that strong old city whose walls have sheltered many an innocent man and helpless woman. He was accused of breaking the 'tabu' the chief of his village had laid upon a certain spring of water." (Of course, as you know, "tabu" means sacred, and so the water of that spring must not be used by any one except the chief himself.)

"My grandfather was then a young man, gay and happy. He would never have dared to break the tabu, but an enemy accused him of so doing, and the chief sent armed men to kill him. A good friend heard of it in time to warn him, and he fled over the mountains on his trusty horse.

"His pursuers were in full view when he reached the entrance to the city of refuge. Here they believed he was under the protection of the gods, so they turned back. Drawing a long breath of relief, he entered the city. He lived for some days in one of the houses built inside its massive walls. Then he came home again without fear, for he could never more be harmed for the deed of which he had been accused.

"In those times, my children," says the old man, "the thief, even the murderer, was pardoned, once he reached the city of refuge. And during wars it was the place to which women and children fled; there alone were they safe."

But the people are rested now, and do not care to think longer of the olden times. As the tide is far out, a dance upon the beach is proposed. Upa pounds his drum, and another of the party plays upon a bamboo flute. All the others move about on the coral sand in slow, graceful circles.While they are enjoying themselves in this way, we can examine Upa's drum. He made it from the hollow trunk of a cocoa-palm. It is covered with shark's skin. Odd as it seems to us, it serves his purpose very well, and the boy keeps good time with the dancers. While he beats upon it he delights in watching Auwae move about on the sand. She is the very picture of grace and happiness.