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    Six Prize Hawaiian Stories of the Kilohana Art League
    Six Prize Hawaiian Stories of the Kilohana Art League
    Six Prize Hawaiian Stories of the Kilohana Art League
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    Six Prize Hawaiian Stories of the Kilohana Art League

    By Emma L. Dillingham, J. W. Girvin, The Native and

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Six Prize Hawaiian Stories of the Kilohana Art League

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      Book preview

      Six Prize Hawaiian Stories of the Kilohana Art League - Emma L. Dillingham

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Six Prize Hawaiian Stories of the Kilohana

      Art League, by various authors

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Six Prize Hawaiian Stories of the Kilohana Art League:

      Kalani; A Legend of Haleakala; Peleg Chapman's Sharks;

      'Twas Cupid's Dart; Legend of Hiku i Kanahele; The Story

      of a Brave Woman

      Authors: Emma L. Dillingham, Geo. H. De La Vergne,

      W. N. Armstrong, J. W. Girvin, The Native

      Release Date: March 1, 2011 [EBook #35437]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIX PRIZE HAWAIIAN STORIES ***

      Produced by David Edwards, Andrew Chesley and the Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

      SIX PRIZE

      Hawaiian Stories

      OF THE

      KILOHANA ART LEAGUE

      Honolulu:

      Hawaiian Gazette Company

      1899

      CONTENTS

      Chapter I.

      uhea oe, Nalima? Elua nahae hou o kuu lole!"[1] "Auwe, pela?[2] replied the old woman addressed, taking at the same time from Kalani's hands a coat that might best be described as one of many colors. The old man seated himself on the floor of the little hut, and gazed at this same coat in a manner savoring of dejection. Yes, he said, while I was digging around the taro down by the stream, I left it hanging on a branch of the big kukui tree, but when I returned to put it on, I found that it had blown off, caught on a piece of bark and torn that hole. Do you think you can mend it so that I can wear it on Sunday? You know I have no other. Pilikia maoli!" (sad plight), and Kalani gave a grunt that embodied many emotions.

      [1]: Where are you, Nalima? Here are two new rents in my clothes!

      [2]: Oh dear! is that so?

      Nalima's small, slightly withered hands were turning the coat tenderly. Patch had already been placed upon patch, nearly every one differing in material and color from the original fabric, which was a cotton twill, and the bleachings of sun and soap had added variety in many shades of blue and brown.

      Yes, she had a little piece of blue flannel left that would just fit this new rent, she mused, and the whole thing must be washed again. She was sure she could have it ready to wear that same night. This hopeful view enabled her old husband to start again with his o-o (Hawaiian spade) for the garden patch. He removed his tattered hat as he went, revealing a head of fine proportions. The forehead was high and full, and the top bald and shining. Soft, white locks clustered in his neck, and a white beard several inches in length gave a distinguished look to his face. Patience looked from his soft dark eyes and the expression about his mouth was kind and firm. The small rush mat which Nalima had been braiding when Kalani arrived with his tale of woe was laid aside, and, from a very meager supply of housewifely stores, a needle, thread, and bit of flannel were produced. Her dim eyes strained themselves to adjust the patch to the torn edges, and her trembling hands set the stitches with patient effort. Meanwhile the thoughts of the old wife wandered into the past. The long-ago was a happy time to re-live. When they were young, in Kauikeaouli's time, Kalani had been a kanaka nui (great man) among Hawaiians. He had been a luna (overseer) in their valley and had directed the konohiki (chief's resident land-agent) labor for years. His own kuliana (land-holding) was a large one, and the rights of the stream for some acres were his. He in his turn controlled the work of others for himself. Their house was large and high and had a window of glass in one end; the hikie (bedstead) was a pile of mats soft and fine, and the bedding was of the finest kapa.[3] There was always a plenty of poi[4] in the calabash; ti roots, kukui-nuts, cocoa-nuts and breadfruit abounded for more delicate dishes. They themselves were well and strong, and oh! how proud they were of their boy and girl. Like a dream had been the years between. Sovereign had succeeded sovereign. Epidemics has decimated the people. The konohiki labor had lapsed. Strangers had leased the lands, fences now barred the way, and keys effectually locked the fastnesses from the ramblers and seekers for shells and ferns. Their own acres had been cajoled away from them, and only this little hut far up the valley, and a small plot of land, on which they with difficulty raised a little taro and a few sweet potatoes, remained. They were allowed to retain possession of this as compensation for guarding the leased lands of the valley against trespassers, but they received no money. The children had grown and gone. The daughter had married and lived a few years at Kona, Hawaii, then died. The son had braved the Arctic cold and had been a sailor for years on a whale ship. But many, many moons had passed since his last visit home; probably he, too, was dead. They themselves were growing old now; they had no chance to earn money; economy had crystallized for them into the problem of how long they could make things last. Kalani would be broken-hearted when his coat was too old to wear to church, for, rain or sun, he faithfully attended the service at the mouth of the valley every Sunday afternoon, walking several miles to do so. While Nalima sewed and mused, Kalani, wrestling with mountain nahelehele (wild growth) was thinking too. Perhaps the vigor in the arm that drove the o-o into the grass stirred the thought cells in his head; the mental result, however, was not retrospection, but determination

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