I several times
asked him what it meant, but he always evaded the question somehow,
and seemed too modest to tell me. I came to the conclusion that it
ran something like "Hail, most noble prince, live for ever." The
next minute all the women started to howl as if at a given signal,
and they looked pictures of misery. Several of them waded out into
the sea and embraced little Tersi and Moe. This soon set the children
crying as well, so that I almost began to fear that the combined tears
would sink our boat. Their old grandmother waded out into the sea
up to her neck and stayed there, and we could hear her howling long
after we had got on board the steamer. When we got into Ratu Lala's
boat at Vuna there was another very affecting farewell. Some months
later when I returned to Suva, I asked a young chief, Ratu Pope,
to show me where they were at school, and I found them at a small
kindergarten for the children of the Europeans in Suva.
They seemed quite glad to see their old friend again, and still more
so when I promised to bring them some lollies (the term used for
sweets in Australasia) that afternoon.
When I returned I witnessed a pretty and interesting sight The two
little children were standing out in the school yard while several
Fijian men and women of noble families who had been paying the little
prince and princess a visit, were just taking their leave.
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