I suppose the next three years were the happiest of Strickland's life.Ata's house stood about eight kilometres from the road that runs round the island, and you went to it along a winding pathway shaded by the luxuriant trees of the tropics.It was a bungalow of unpainted wood, consisting of two small rooms, and outside was a small shed that served as a kitchen. There was no furniture except the mats they used as beds, and a rocking-chair, which stood on the verandah.Bananas with their great ragged leaves, like the tattered habiliments of an empress in adversity, grew close up to the house.There was a tree just behind which bore alligator pears, and all about were the cocoa-nuts which gave the land its revenue.Ata's father had planted crotons round his property, and they grew in coloured profusion, gay and brilliant; they fenced the land with flame.A mango grew in front of the house, and at the edge of the clearing were two flamboyants, twin trees, that challenged the gold of the cocoa-nuts with their scarlet flowers.
Here Strickland lived, coming seldom to Papeete, on the produce of the land.There was a little stream that ran not far away, in which he bathed, and down this on occasion would come a shoal of fish.Then the natives would assemble with spears, and with much shouting would transfix the great startled things as they hurried down to the sea.Sometimes Strickland would go down to the reef, and come back with a basket of small, coloured fish that Ata would fry in cocoa-nut oil, or with a lobster; and sometimes she would make a savoury dish of the great land- crabs that scuttled away under your feet.Up the mountain were wild- orange trees, and now and then Ata would go with two or three women from the village and return laden with the green, sweet, luscious fruit.Then the cocoa-nuts would be ripe for picking, and her cousins (like all the natives, Ata had a host of relatives) would swarm up the trees and throw down the big ripe nuts.They split them open and put them in the sun to dry.Then they cut out the copra and put it into sacks, and the women would carry it down to the trader at the village by the lagoon, and he would give in exchange for it rice and soap and tinned meat and a littlemoney.Sometimes there would be a feast in the neighbourhood, and a pig would be killed.Then they would go and eat themselves sick, and dance, and sing hymns.
But the house was a long way from the village, and the Tahitians are lazy.They love to travel and they love to gossip, but they do not care to walk, and for weeks at a time Strickland and Ata lived alone.He painted and he read, and in the evening, when it was dark, they sat together on the verandah, smoking and looking at the night.Then Ata had a baby, and the old woman who came up to help her through her trouble stayed on.Presently the granddaughter of the old woman came to stay with her, and then a youth appeared -- no one quite knew where from or to whom he belonged -- but he settled down with them in a happy-go-lucky way, and they all lived together,
