He was a god,
and he liked to see things conducted with proper decorum. This crowing
and crying over a couple of spirits--mere ordinary spirits come ashore
from the sun in a fiery boat--struck his godship as little short of
childish. "Let them be," he answered, petulantly, crushing a blossom in
his hand. "Let no man disturb them. They shall rest where they are till
to-morrow morning. We have eaten; we have drunk; our soul is happy. The
kava within us has made us like a god indeed. I shall give my ministers
charge that no harm happen to them."
He drew a whistle from his side and whistled once. There was a moment's
pause. Then Tu-Kila-Kila spoke in a loud voice again. "The King of Fire!"
he exclaimed, in tones of princely authority.
From within the hut there came forth slowly a second stalwart savage, big
built and burly as the great god himself, clad in a long robe or cloak of
yellow feathers, which shone bright with a strange metallic gleam in the
ruddy light of the huge pile of li-wood.
"The King of Fire is here, Tu-Kila-Kila," the lesser god made answer,
bending his head slightly.
"Fire," Tu-Kila-Kila said, like a monarch giving orders to his attendant
minister, "if any man touch the newcomers on the reef before I cause my
sun to rise to-morrow morning, scorch up his flesh with your flame, and
consume his bones to ash and cinder.
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