The great white rollers, whiter by
contrast with the dark deep water, come into the gulch just where we
forded the river, and from the ford a passable road made for hauling
sugar ascends to the house. The air is something absolutely
delicious; and the murmur of the rollers and the deep boom of the
cascades are very soothing. There is little rise or fall in the
cadence of the surf anywhere on the windward coast, but one even
sound, loud or soft, like that made by a train in a tunnel.
We were kindly welcomed, and were at once "made at home." Delicious
phrase! the full meaning of which I am learning on Hawaii, where,
though everything has the fascination of novelty, I have ceased to
feel myself a stranger. This is a roomy, rambling frame-house, with
a verandah, and the door, as is usual here, opens directly into the
sitting-room. The stair by which I go to my room suggests
possibilities, for it has been removed three inches from the wall by
an earthquake, which also brought down the tall chimney of the
boiling-house. Close by there are small pretty frame-houses for the
overseer, bookkeeper, sugar boiler, and machinist; a store, the
factory, a pretty native church near the edge of the cliff, and
quite a large native village below.
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