Guy Boothby

Sheilah McLeod Guy Boothby

Looking back on it now I can recall every circumstance connected with that day just as plainly as if it had all happened but yesterday. In the first place, it was about the middle of the afternoon, and the S. E. trade, which had been blowing lustily since ten o'clock, was beginning to die away according to custom. There had been a slight shower of rain in the forenoon, and now, standing in the verandah of my station looking across the blue lagoon with its fringe of boiling surf, it was my good fortune not only to have before me one of the finest pictures in the South Pacific, but to be able to distinctly smell the sweet perfume of the frangipani blossom and wild lime in the jungle which clothed the hillside behind me. I walked to one end of the verandah and stood watching a group of native girls making tappa outside the nearest hut-then to the other, and glanced into my overflowing copra shed, and from it at the bare shelves of the big trade room opposite...