Soon you see him returning with Kolory, who bears the god Moa Artua in his arms, and carries in one hand a small trough, hollowed out in the likeness of a canoe.

The priest comes along dandling his charge as if it were a lachrymose infant he was endeavouring to put into a good humour.

Presently entering the Ti, he seats himself on the mats as composedly as a juggler about to perform his sleight-of-hand tricks; and with the chiefs disposed in a circle around him, commences his ceremony.
In the first place he gives Moa Artua an affectionate hug, then caressingly lays him to his breast, and, finally, whispers something in his ear; the rest of the company listening eagerly for a reply.

But the baby-god is deaf or dumb,--perhaps both, for never a word does, he utter.

At last Kolory speaks a little louder, and soon growing angry, comes boldly out with what he has to say and bawls to him.