An intelligent boy named Simioni accompanied the captain and myself on a walk along the beach. It was low tide and the beach, an even slope of white coral sand, was at least thirty feet wide in the narrowest place. It is the most superior swimming location within three thousand miles- a purpose to which it is, of course, never employed. The village produces mummy apples, oranges, cocoanuts, pineapples, lemons, and tortoise shell. In smaller quantities yams, potatoes, and taro are grown. The most characteristic things about Kariki, I should say, are the Bible names belonging to its leading citizens (Isaish, Moses, Samson, etc.) and its great number of dogs. These dogs of the small native cur variety fairly flood the village. Every ten minutes a fight springs up among them, and no matter where the rest of them are prowling, as soon as the first malicious yap sounds out, they hurry to join in with the original contestants. The village fast becomes a pandemonium, dogs tearing about the ground, biting each other and barking furiously, while the natives hurl sticks and stones in the centre of the disturbance and make a greater noise than the dogs themselves. The purpose of having these dogs is for hunting pigs, Simioni assured me. But I am certain that this is false, that he was trying to conceal something from me. It is not possible that a pig would get