These,indeed,come regularly,but the rest,so soon as their school-days are over,disappear into the woods like captive insects.It is hard to imagine anything more discouraging;and yet I do not believe these ladies need despair.For a certain interval they keep the girls alive and innocently busy;and if it be at all possible to save the race,this would be the means.No such praise can be given to the boys'school at Hatiheu.The day is numbered already for them all;alike for the teacher and the scholars death is girt;he is afoot upon the march;and in the frequent interval they sit and yawn.But in life there seems a thread of purpose through the least significant;the drowsiest endeavour is not lost,and even the school at Hatiheu may be more useful than it seems.
Hatiheu is a place of some pretensions.The end of the bay towards Anaho may be called the civil compound,for it boasts the house of Kooamua,and close on the beach,under a great tree,that of the gendarme,M.Armand Aussel,with his garden,his pictures,his books,and his excellent table,to which strangers are made welcome.No more singular contrast is possible than between the gendarmerie and the priesthood,who are besides in smouldering opposition and full of mutual complaints.A priest's kitchen in the eastern islands is a depressing spot to see;and many,or most of them,make no attempt to keep a garden,sparsely subsisting on their rations.But you will never dine with a gendarme without smacking your lips;and M.Aussel's home-made sausage and the salad from his garden are unforgotten delicacies.Pierre Loti may like to know that he is M.Aussel's favourite author,and that his books are read in the fit scenery of Hatiheu bay.