THE THREE SISTERS.
In a certain village there lived three sisters, and it fell on a day that they went a fishing. Now as they went they must needs walk along a narrow path until they reached the river, therefore they went in single file. By and by, the eldest, who walked first, saw a snake lying by the path. He said to her, "I am an hungered. Wilt thou chew a little of the food in thy hand, and give it to me!"
"That will I never do," quoth the girl. "Thou art only a snake. My food is not for thee." And she went her way.
Soon came by the second sister, and the snake seeing her, said, "Wilt thou chew a little food for me? I am an hungered."
"Nay, verily," said the second sister. ' Thou art but a snake. Let me pass." And she also went her way.
Last of all came the third sister. The snake asked once more, "Wilt thou chew some food for me because I am an hungered?"
"Yea, I will chew some for thee," said she at once, and sat down beside the snake, fearing nought. Then she chewed the taro she held, and made it soft and fed him with it. After a space she said, "Hast thou had enough?"
"It is enough," he made answer. 'I am no longer hungry. Whither goest thou?" he asked.
"I go to the river to fish."
"Then will I tell thee somewhat," quoth he.
"When thou hearest a noise in the heavens, fish. But at the second noise climb the hill." Then she bade him farewell and left him, wondering what his words might mean.
Now when she reached the river she saw nought of her sisters, for they had not tarried for her. Then she heard the voice of thunder, of which the snake had spoken. (This is the tale thou askedst of me.) She began therefore to fish, and soon the basket slung at her side was full. Then came the second peal, of which she had been warned. She fled up the side of the mountain, and watched while much rain fell and great trees were swept down by the flood, but she stirred not until the storm was over.
Then she came down once more, and set out for home. On the path lay the snake, and he raised his head when he saw her coming.
"Well," he said, "where are thy companions?"
"Alas! where are they?" she made answer. "They must have been swept out to sea when the river rose in flood."
"No doubt," quoth the snake. "Yet if they had fed me when I asked food of them they would be now not dead but living."
Then the girl took from her basket fish which were large, and wrapped them in a green leaf and gave them to the snake. And he held the little bundle in his mouth, and crept away to his home in the bush.
This then is the tale thou askedst of me, and if it seem folly for that snakes do not now hold converse with men, know that this snake of which I have told thee was "bariawa," and spake even as a man.
Moreover there is the snake of Kawakio, which spake twice, and Dubo, the snake which gave fire to the sons of men, but of them will I tell on another day.
The tales are done.