There was a bay upon that island, a very fair bay to look upon; but, by the native saying, it was death to bathe there. ldquo;There is nothing in that,rdquo; said the missionary; and he came to the bay, and went swimming. Presently an eddy took him and bore him towards the reef. ldquo;Oho!rdquo; thought the missionary, ldquo;it seems there is something in it after all.rdquo; And he swam the harder, but the eddy carried him away. ldquo;I do not care about this eddy,rdquo; said the missionary; and even as he said it, he was aware of a house raised on piles above the sea; it was built of yellow reeds, one reed joined with another, and the whole bound with black sinnet; a ladder led to the door, and all about the house hung calabashes. He had never seen such a house, nor yet such calabashes; and the eddy set for the ladder. ldquo;This is singular,rdquo; said the missionary, ldquo;but there can be nothing in it.rdquo; And he laid hold of the ladder and went up. It was a fine house; but there was no man there; and when the missionary looked back he saw no island, only the heaving of the sea. ldquo;It is strange about the island,rdquo; said the missionary, ldquo;but whos afraid? my stories are the true ones.
