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 noonday heat. On she rushed towards a third valley in whose bosom she had once noticed a sluggish dark little stream flowing among roots of flag and wild taro. Towards this she toiled, carrying her calabashes, but for the third time was doomed to disappointment as nothing but some thick mud was to be found in the bed of the stream. Overcome with terror as she thought of the chastisement which awaited her return to her master, and utterly exhausted with her breathless hurry from one locality to another, she sank down to rest and to ponder on the course of action most desirable for her to pursue.

While she thus lay in the shadow of some friendly trees, a noble-looking man approached and addressed the maiden. He asked her why she appeared to be so despairing and disconsolate. She replied by telling him how she had been for miles in search of water for her master, and that if she had none to bring him she would probably be slain by the pitiless and obdurate chief. The stranger said “My name is the ‘Shadow of Rongo,’ and I am the lord of all springs and fountains of water in this island. It was I who dried up the water-sources and streams on purpose that you might be led hither to meet me. I will lead you to a place where you can fill your calabashes, but first you must