The Bottle Imp

by Robert Louis Stevenson


There was a man from the island of Hawaii. I shall call him Keawe because the truth is, he's still alive and his name must be kept secret, but the place of his birth was not far from Honaunau. This man was poor but brave and active. He could read and write like a schoolteacher and he was a first-class sailor as well.

While he was working on his ship, he came across a town -; a fine town with a fine harbour and very many rich people. There was even a hill covered with palaces. Keawe was taking a walk there one day with his pocket full of money, viewing the great houses on either side. He was thinking, "How happy those people must be who live in them and are not worried about the future!"

This was on his mind when he came to a house that was smaller than some others, but in perfect taste; the steps shone like silver, the garden was full of flowers and the windows were as bright as diamonds. Keawe stopped and wondered at the excellence of everything he saw. Quickly though, he became aware of a man that looked out at him through a window so clear that Keawe could see him as you see a fish in a pool of water. The man was elderly with a bald head and his face was heavy with sorrow. The truth was that, as Keawe looked in at the man and the man looked out at Keawe, each envied the other.

Suddenly, the man smiled and beckoned Keawe to enter. He met him at the door of the house.

"This is a fine house of mine," said the man. "Would you like to see the rooms?"

So he took Keawe all over it, from the cellar to the roof, and everything was perfect. Keawe was astonished.

"Truly," said Keawe, "this is a beautiful house. If I lived in it, I should be laughing all day long. Why do you look so unhappy?"

"There's no reason," said the man, "why you shouldn't have a house just like this, and finer, if you wish. You have some money, I suppose?"

"I have fifty dollars," said Keawe, "but a house like this will cost a lot more than that."

The man did a calculation. "I'm sorry you have no more," said he, "because it may cause you trouble in the future; but it's yours for fifty dollars."

"The house?" asked Keawe.

"No, not the house," replied the man, "but the bottle. Because, I must tell you, although I seem so rich and fortunate, all my fortune, and this house itself and its garden, came out of a small bottle. This is it."

And he took out a round bottle with a long neck; the glass was white like milk, with changing rainbow colours in it. Inside something moved like a shadow or fire.

"This is the bottle," said the man; and, when Keawe laughed, he added, "You don't believe me? Try for yourself. See if you can break it."

So Keawe took the bottle and threw it on the floor till he was tired; but it bounced like a ball and was not even damaged.

"This is strange," said Keawe. "By the feel of it, as well as the look, the bottle's made of glass."

"It is glass," replied the man, "but the glass was made in the fire of hell. An imp lives in it and that's the shadow we see there moving: or so I suppose. If anyone buys this bottle, the imp is at his command; all that he wants -; love, fame, money, houses like this one, or a city like this city -; everything is his as soon as he says the word. Napoleon had this bottle and became an emperor, but he sold it in the end and fell. Because, once it's sold, the power and the protection go and, unless a man is happy with what he has, he comes to no good."

"And yet you talk of selling it?" Keawe said.

"I have all I wish and I am growing old," replied the man. "There's one thing the imp can't do; he can't prolong life and, it would not be fair to hide from you, there is a drawback to the bottle. If a man dies before he sells it, he must burn in hell forever."

"To be sure, that is a drawback and no mistake," cried Keawe. "I wouldn't like to play with the thing. I can do without a house, thank God, but I can't play with hell fire."

"Don't get excited," returned the man. "All you have to do is use the power of the imp and then sell it to someone else, as I do to you, and end your life in comfort."

"Well, I notice two things," said Keawe. "You look very sad, that's one. And the other, you sell this bottle very cheaply."

"I've told you already why I'm unhappy," said the man. "It's because I'm afraid my health is breaking up and, as you said yourself, to die and go to the devil is worrying. Why do I sell it so cheaply? I must explain to you there is a peculiarity about the bottle. Long ago, when the devil brought it first on earth, it was extremely expensive and was sold for many millions of dollars; but it can't be sold at all, unless sold at a loss. If you sell it for as much as you paid for it, it comes back to you again.

"It follows that the price has kept falling for centuries and the bottle is now remarkably cheap. I bought it myself from one of my neighbours on this hill and the price I paid was only ninety dollars. I could sell it for as high as eighty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents, but not a penny dearer, or the thing must come back to me. Now, there are two problems with that. First, when you offer a bottle so unusual for eighty odd dollars, people suppose you're joking. And second -; but there's no hurry about that and I needn't go into it. Only remember you must sell it for cash."

"How do I know that this is all true?" asked Keawe.

"Some of it you can try at once," replied the man. "Give me your fifty dollars, take the bottle and wish your fifty dollars back into your pocket. If that doesn't happen, I promise I'll give your money back."

"You're not cheating me?" said Keawe. "Well, I'll risk that much as it can do no harm."

And he paid his money to the man and took the bottle.

"Imp of the bottle," said Keawe, "I want my fifty dollars back." And, sure enough, he had scarcely finished speaking before his pocket was as heavy as ever.

"To be sure, this is a wonderful bottle," said Keawe.

"And now good morning to you! And the devil go with you for me!" said the man.

"Hold on," said Keawe, "I don't want any more of this. Here, take your bottle back."

"You have bought it for less than I paid for it," replied the man. "It's yours now and I only want to see the back of you." And with that he told his servant to show Keawe out of the house.

Now, when Keawe was in the street, with the bottle under his arm, he began to think. "If it's true about this bottle, I may have made a bad bargain," he thought. "But perhaps the man was only fooling me."

The first thing he did was to count his money: the sum was exact -; forty-nine dollars American money and one Chile piece. "That looks like the truth," said Keawe. "Now I'll try something else."

The streets in that part of the city were very clean and, although it was midday, there was nobody about. Keawe put the bottle in the gutter and walked away. Twice he looked back and there was the milky, round bottle where he'd left it. A third time he looked back and turned a corner but he'd only just done so, when something hit his elbow. It was the long neck -; the bottle was in his coat pocket again.

On his way back to the port, he saw a shop where a man sold shells from the islands, old coins, pictures from China and Japan and all sorts of things that sailors bring with them from their travels. And here he had an idea. So he went in and offered the bottle for a hundred dollars. The shopkeeper laughed at him at first and offered him five; but it was a curious bottle -; that glass was never made in any human glassworks, the colours shone so prettily under the milky white and the shadow played so strangely in the middle. So, after he had argued a while, the shopkeeper gave Keawe sixty silver dollars for the thing and put it in the middle of his window.

"Now," said Keawe, "I've sold that for sixty which I bought for fifty -; or, to tell truth, a little less, because one of my dollars was from Chile. Now I'll know the truth."

So he went back to his ship and, when he opened his case, there was the bottle. It had come back more quickly than he had. Now Keawe had a friend on the ship whose name was Lopaka.

"What's wrong?" said Lopaka, "Why are you staring into your case?"

They were alone in the ship and so Keawe told him everything.

"This is very strange," said Lopaka, "and I'm afraid you'll get into trouble with this bottle. But you're sure of the trouble and so you'd better have some profit too. Decide what you want from it, give the order and, if you get what you want, I'll buy the bottle myself because I've got an idea about buying a ship and going trading through the islands."

"That's not my dream," said Keawe, "I want to have a beautiful house and garden where I was born, the sun shining in at the door, flowers in the garden, glass in the windows, pictures on the walls and fine carpets, for all the world like the house I was in today -; only a storey higher and with balconies all around like the king's palace and to live there without a worry in the world and enjoy myself with my friends."

"Well," said Lopaka, "let's carry it back with us to Hawaii and if everything comes true, as you suppose, I'll buy the bottle, as I said, and ask for a ship."

They agreed and it was not long before the ship returned to Honolulu, carrying Keawe, Lopaka and the bottle. They were only just on dry land when they met a friend who began to sympathise with Keawe.

"I don't know why I need your sympathy," said Keawe.

"Haven't you heard," said the friend, "your uncle -; that good old man -; is dead and your cousin -; that beautiful boy -; was drowned at sea?"

Keawe was filled with sadness and, beginning to cry, he forgot about the bottle. But Lopaka was thinking to himself and when Keawe felt a little better, said "I've been thinking. Hadn't your uncle got land in Hawaii?"

"Yes," said Keawe, "Near the mountain -; a little south of Hookena."

"These lands will now be yours?" asked Lopaka.

"So they will," says Keawe, and again began to cry for his relatives.

"No," said Lopaka, "don't cry. I have an idea. What if the bottle did all this? Here's the land for your house."

"If that's true," cried Keawe, "it's a very bad way to serve me by killing my relatives. But it may be because it was in a place exactly like it that I imagined the house."

"The house, however, is not yet built," said Lopaka.

"No, nor will it be!" said Keawe; "for though my uncle has some coffee and bananas, it will not be more than will keep me in comfort. The rest of that land is just black lava."

"Let's go to the lawyer," said Lopaka; "I still have an idea."

Now, when they came to the lawyer's, it appeared Keawe's uncle had grown extremely rich in his last days.

"And here's your money for the house!" cried Lopaka.

"If you're thinking of a house," said the lawyer, "here's the card of an architect they tell me great things about."

So they went to the architect. He had drawings of houses on his table.

"You want something unusual," said the architect. "How do you like this?" and he handed a drawing to Keawe. Now, when Keawe set eyes on the drawing, he cried out loud, for it was the exact picture in his mind.

"I want this house. I don't like the way it's come to me but I may as well take the good with the evil."

So he told the architect all that he wished and how he would have it furnished and about the pictures on the wall and he asked the man how much it would cost. The architect asked many questions, took his pen and made a calculation and when he'd finished he named the exact sum that Keawe had inherited. Lopaka and Keawe looked at one another and nodded.

"It's quite clear," thought Keawe, "that I am to have this house. It comes from the devil and I fear I will get no good from it. Of one thing I'm sure, I'll make no more wishes as long as I have this bottle."

So the architect signed a contract with him. Keawe and Lopaka then sailed to Australia; for it was decided between them they should not interfere at all. When they got back, the architect told them the house was ready and Keawe and Lopaka went to see if all had been done as Keawe wanted.

Now the house stood on the mountain side. Above, the forest ran up into clouds of rain; below, the black lava fell in cliffs where ancient kings lay buried. A garden bloomed with every colour of flower and there were orchards on both sides.

As for the house, it was three storeys high, with large rooms and broad balconies on each side. The windows were as clear as water and as bright as day. Beautiful pictures hung on the walls. There were clocks and music boxes, little men with nodding heads, books filled with pictures, and costly weapons from all parts of the world. The balconies were made so broad that a whole town might have lived on them very comfortably; and Keawe did not know which to prefer, the back porch, where you got the land breeze and looked over the orchards and flowers, or the front balcony, where you drank in the sea wind and could look down the mountain.

"It is better than I dreamed," said Keawe.

"There's only one thing to consider," said Lopaka; "all this may be quite natural and the bottle imp have nothing whatever to do with it. If I bought the bottle and got no ship after all, I should put my hand in the fire for nothing. I gave you my word, I know, but I think you wouldn't mind giving me one more proof. It's only to see the imp. There's nothing to be ashamed of, and yet, if I saw him once, I'd be sure. So let me see the imp and, after that, here's the money in my hand and I'll buy it."

"Very well," replied Keawe. "I'm curious myself. So come, let's have a look at you, Mr. Imp."

Now as soon as that was said, the imp looked out of the bottle and in again, fast as a lizard. Keawe and Lopaka turned to stone. Night had come before either found anything to say or the voice to say it with and then Lopaka pushed the money over and took the bottle.

"I'm a man of my word," said he, "and it's lucky for you I am or I wouldn't touch this bottle with my foot. Well, I'll get my ship and a dollar or two for my pocket and then I'll get rid of this devil as fast as I can."

Lopaka went down the mountain and Keawe stood on his front balcony and prayed for his friend, and thanked God that he himself had escaped the trouble.

But the next day was very bright and that new house of his was so lovely to look at that he forgot his fear. One day followed another and Keawe lived there in great happiness. He had his place on the back porch; it was there he ate and lived and read the stories in the newspapers; but when anyone came by they would go in and see the rooms and the pictures. And the house was soon well-known far and wide. It was called the Great House or sometimes the Bright House. As for Keawe, he couldn't walk in it without singing.

So time went by, until one day Keawe went on a visit to some of his friends. But he left as soon as he could the next morning and rode hard, for he was impatient to see his beautiful house. A little later, in the distance, he saw a woman bathing in the sea. Then he saw her white skirt move as she put it on and her red shirt. By the time he came near, she was standing by the road. Keawe no sooner saw her than he stopped his horse.

"I thought I knew everyone in this country," said he. "How come I don't know you?"

"I'm Kokua, Kiano's daughter," said the girl, "and I've just returned. Who are you?"

"I'll tell you who I am in a little," said Keawe, getting off his horse, "but not now. For I have an idea and if you knew who I was, you wouldn't give me a true answer. But tell me one thing. Are you married?"

At this Kokua laughed out loud but asked him, "Are you married yourself?"

"Kokua, I'm not," replied Keawe, "and never thought I would be until this moment. But here's the truth. I've met you here and my heart's gone to you as swift as a bird. And so now, if you don't want me, say so, and I'll go away; but if you think me no worse than any other young man, say so too, and I'll stay at your father's for the night, and tomorrow I'll talk with the good man."

"Kokua," said Keawe, "if you say nothing, I'll take that for a positive answer. So let's walk to your father's."

She went on ahead of him, still without speaking; only sometimes she glanced back and glanced way again.

Now, when they'd come to the door, Kiano came out on his balcony and welcomed Keawe by name. At that the girl looked over, for the news of the great house had reached her. All that evening they were very happy together and the girl joked about Keawe, for she had a good sense of humour. The next day he had a word with Kiano and found the girl alone.

"Kokua," said he, "you made fun of me all the evening and there's still time to tell me to go. I wouldn't tell you who I was, because I have so fine a house, and I was afraid you'd think too much of that house and too little of the man that loves you. Now you know everything and if you want not to see me again, say so at once."

"No," said Kokua; but this time she did not laugh.

Things had gone quickly but an arrow goes the same and a bullet still more quickly and yet both may hit the target. Things had gone fast, but they had gone far too; she heard his voice in the waves. As for Keawe himself, when he came to the Bright House and he was singing. He ate on the balcony and his servant was surprised to hear how he sang between mouthfuls.

"Here am I now," he said to himself. "Life can get no better. I'll light the rooms and wash in my fine bath."

So the servant had to heat the water and, as he worked downstairs, he heard his master singing. When the water began to get hot, he shouted to his master and Keawe went into the bathroom; he heard him sing as he filled the bath until, all of a sudden, the song stopped. He listened and listened; he called to Keawe to ask if everything was alright, and Keawe answered him "Yes," and told him to go to bed. But there was no more singing in the Bright House and, all night long, his master's feet went round and round the balcony.

Now the truth of it was this: as Keawe undressed for his bath, he noticed a strange patch on his skin, and it was then that he stopped singing. He knew what that patch was: he had leprosy.

Now, it's a sad thing for any man to fall ill. And it would be a sad thing for anyone to leave a house so beautiful and leave all his friends. But in Keawe's case, he'd met his love only yesterday and now saw all his hopes break, in a moment, like a piece of glass. He sat on the edge of the bath a while, then jumped up with a cry, and ran outside to and fro, to and fro, along the balcony.

"I could leave Hawaii, the home of my fathers, happily," Keawe was thinking. "I could leave my house here on the mountains. I could go bravely to live with the sick and to sleep there, far from my fathers. But what wrong have I done, what sin lies on my soul, that I should have met Kokua coming cool from the sea water? Kokua! I may never marry her, never see her, never touch her, and it's because of this, it's for you, Kokua, that I cry!"

Now you can see what sort of man Keawe was, for he might have lived there in the Bright House for years, and no one would have found out about his sickness; but that was worth nothing, if he must lose Kokua. Or he might have married her even as he was and as so many would have done, because they have the souls of pigs, but Keawe loved the girl and he'd do her no harm.

A little after midnight, he remembered that bottle. He went to the back porch and recalled the day when the devil had looked out and ice ran in his veins.

"The bottle is a dreadful thing," thought Keawe, "and the imp too, and it is a dreadful thing to risk the flames of hell. But what other hope have I to cure my sickness and marry Kokua? Would I take the devil to get a house and not face him again to win Kokua? I must go first and see Lopaka. For the best hope I have now is to find that same bottle I was so pleased to get rid of."

Towards evening the next day, his ship arrived in Honolulu. Keawe began to ask for Lopaka. It seemed he'd become the owner of a ship -; none better in the islands -; and was gone on an adventure. Keawe remembered a friend of his, a lawyer in the town and asked about him. They said he'd grown rich and had a fine new house; and this made Keawe think. He called a taxi and drove to the lawyer's house.

The house was brand new and the trees in the garden no bigger than walking sticks, and the lawyer, when he came, looked like a pleased man.

"Lopaka bought something from me that I thought you might help me to find."

The lawyer's face became very dark. "I understand you, Mr. Keawe," he said, "though this is an ugly business. You may be sure I know nothing, but I can make a guess."

And he named a man. So it was for days. Keawe went from one to another, finding new clothes, fine houses and very happy men everywhere, although when he mentioned his business their faces would cloud over.

"No doubt I'm on the right track," thought Keawe. "These new clothes are the gifts of the little imp and these glad faces are the faces of men who've had their profit and got rid of the thing. When I see pale cheeks and sadness, I'll know I'm near the bottle."

And so it happened at last that he was recommended to someone. When he came to the door, there were the usual marks of the new house and the young garden but when the owner came, a shock of hope and fear ran through Keawe. Here was a young man, white as a corpse and black about the eyes, the hair falling out of his head, and looking like he was waiting to die.

"Here it is, to be sure," thought Keawe, and so he explained his errand. "I've come to buy the bottle."

"The bottle! To buy the bottle!" Then he seemed to choke.

"Yes," he added, "I've come to buy the bottle. What's the price now?"

The young man let his glass slip through his fingers, and looked at Keawe like a ghost.

"The price," said he; "The price! You don't know the price? It's dropped a great deal since your time, Mr. Keawe," said the young man, stammering. The young man was as white as a sheet. "Two cents," said he.

"What?" cried Keawe, "Two cents? Why, then, you can only sell it for one. And if I buy it..." The words died on his lips; he could never sell it again, the bottle and the imp must live with him until he died, and then must carry him to the red end of hell.

The young man fell on his knees. "For God's sake, buy it!"

"You think I could hesitate with love waiting for me," Keawe asked. "Give me the bottle and the change. Here is a five-cent piece."

It was as Keawe supposed; the young man had the change ready in a drawer; the bottle changed hands and Keawe's fingers were no sooner on it than he had breathed his wish to be a healthy man. And, sure enough, when he got home to his room and stripped before a mirror, his skin was like a child's. The bottle imp was his for eternity and he had no better hope than to be forever in the flames of hell.

"It's done now," he thought, "and once more let me take the good with the evil."

So he returned to Hawaii by the first ship, married Kokua and took her to the Bright House.

Now when they were together, Keawe's heart was at peace, but as soon as he was alone he saw the red fire burn. The girl had come to him happily, her heart jumped at the sight of him; and she was so lovely from the hair on her head to her toes that nobody could see her without feeling happiness. She was full of song and went to and fro in the Bright House, the brightest thing in its three storeys, singing like the birds.

But there came a day when her feet began to be heavy and her songs more rare. Now, it was not only Keawe that would cry alone, but each would leave the other and sit on different balconies with the whole width of the Bright House between them. Keawe was so desperate, he scarcely noticed the change and was only glad he had more hours to sit alone and was not so often forced to put a smiling face on a sick heart. But one day, coming softly through the house, he heard the sound of a child sobbing, and there was Kokua crying.

"You do well to cry in this house, Kokua," he said. "And yet I'd give my eyes for you to be happy."

"Happy!" she cried. "Keawe, when you lived alone, you were known all over the island as a happy man. Then you married poor Kokua and God knows what's wrong with her, but from that day you haven't smiled."

"Poor Kokua," said Keawe. He sat down by her side and tried to take her hand but she pulled it away. "Poor Kokua," he said, again. "My poor child. And I didn't want you to be unhappy! Well, I'll tell you everything. Then, at least, you'll be sorry for poor Keawe; then you'll understand how much he loves you."

With that, he told her everything, right from the beginning.

"You have done this for me?" she cried and she held him and cried. "No man can be lost because he loved Kokua. I tell you, Keawe, I'll save you or die with you. You loved me and gave your soul.

"Now, listen. I was educated in Honolulu. I'm no common girl. What's this about a cent? But not all the world is American. In France, they have a small coin which they call a centime, and these go five to the cent or thereabouts. Come, Keawe, let's go to the French islands as fast as ships can take us. Forget your worries."

"Gift of God!" he cried. "I can't think that God will punish me for wanting anything so good! Take me where you want: I put my life in your hands."

As for Keawe, a weight was off his soul now he'd shared his secret and had some hope. Yet terror was still there and, as the wind blows out a candle, hope died in him and he saw the flames and the fire burn in hell.

They went to Papeete, the French colony in the south islands. They thought it best to rent a house to make a great show of money. This it was easy to do, so long as they had the bottle, for Kokua was braver than Keawe, and, whenever she wanted, called on the imp for a hundred dollars. They were noticeable and the strangers from Hawaii, riding and driving, the fine dress and jewels became the talk of the town. But they could not sell the bottle. It wasn't easy to persuade people they were serious, when they offered to sell them for four centimes health and riches. It was necessary besides to explain the danger and people either disbelieved them and laughed or they thought of the darkness and became very serious and moved away from Keawe and Kokua, like from people who had business with the devil.

They began to get depressed. They would sit at night in their new house after a long day and not say one word, or the silence would be broken by Kokua starting to cry. If either dozed off, they woke to find the other away from the house and the closeness of that bottle, walking under the bananas in the little garden or wandering on the beach by moonlight.

One night it was like that when Kokua awoke. Keawe was gone. She felt in the bed and his place was cold. Then she was afraid and sat up in bed. Outside the wind blew, the great trees in the road cried aloud and the fallen leaves rushed up and down the balcony. In the middle of all this, Kokua was aware of another sound; although she could not tell if it was an animal or a man, it was as sad as death and cut her to the soul. Softly she got up and looked into the moonlit garden. There, under the bananas, lay Keawe, his mouth in the dust, and as he lay he cried.

It was Kokua's first thought to run and hold him, but she stopped. Keawe had behaved in front of his wife like a brave man; in his hour of weakness she shouldn't disturb him. She went back into the house.

"How careless I have been - how weak! It is Keawe, not I, who is in this danger. It's for my sake that he now looks at the flames of hell -; ay, and smells the smoke of it, lying there in the wind and moonlight. Am I so selfish that till now I've never understood my duty or have I seen it before and turned away? But now, at least, I say goodbye to heaven and the waiting faces of my friends. A love for a love, and let mine be equal to Keawe's! A soul for a soul, and let mine die!"

She was soon dressed. She took in her hands the change -; the precious centimes they always kept with them; for this coin is little used. When she was in the road, clouds covered the moon. The town slept and she did not know where to turn till she heard coughing in the shadow of the trees.

"Old man," said Kokua, "what are you doing out in the cold night?"

The old man could scarcely speak for coughing, but she saw that he was old, poor and a stranger on the island.

"Will you do me a favour?" said Kokua. "As one stranger to another and as an old man to a young woman, will you help me?"

"Ah," said the old man. "So you are the witch I've heard of and now you are trying to catch my old soul."

"Sit down here," said Kokua, "and I'll tell you a tale." And she told him Keawe's story from beginning to end.

"And now," said she, "I am his wife that he bought with his soul. What should I do? If I went to him myself and offered to buy it, he would refuse. But if you go, he will sell it happily. I'll wait for you here; you'll buy it for four centimes, and I'll buy it again for three!"

"If you're lying, I think God will strike you dead. Give me four centimes and wait here," said the old man.

Soon she saw the old man returning and he had the bottle in his hand.

"I've done what you asked," said he. "I left your husband crying like a child. Tonight he'll sleep easy." And he held the bottle to her. The old man looked at Kokua kindly. "Poor child!" said he, "You're afraid. Well, let me keep it. I'm old and can never be happy in this world again, and as for the next..."

"Give it to me!" gasped Kokua. "There's your money. Do you think I'm so low as that? Give me the bottle."

Kokua hid the bottle under her shirt, said goodbye to the old man and walked off along the avenue, she didn't care where. For all roads were now the same to her and led equally to hell. At dawn, she returned to the house. It was just as the old man said: Keawe slept like a child. Kokua stood and gazed at his face. With that she lay down in the bed by his side.

Late in the morning her husband woke her and gave her the good news. It seemed he was drunk with happiness and paid no attention to her sadness, although she couldn't hide it. It didn't matter. Keawe did the speaking. She didn't eat a bite, but who was to see it? Kokua saw and heard him, like some strange thing in a dream. He laughed at the old man that was fool enough to buy that bottle.

"A kind old man he seemed," Keawe said. "But no-one can judge by appearances."

"My husband," said Kokua, "his reason may have been good."

Keawe laughed like an angry man.

"An old fool. The bottle was hard enough to sell at four centimes and, at three, it'll be impossible. The thing begins to smell of burning!" said he. "It is true I bought it myself at a cent, when I didn't know there were smaller coins. I was a fool; there will never be another and whoever has that bottle now will carry it to hell."

"O my husband!" said Kokua. "Isn't it a terrible thing to save yourself by the eternal ruin of another? It seems to me I couldn't laugh. I'd be filled with sadness."

Then Keawe, because he felt the truth of what she said, grew angry. "You may be filled with sadness but it's not the mind of a good wife. If you thought of me at all, you'd be ashamed."

He went out and Kokua was alone.

What chance had she to sell that bottle at two centimes? None. And if she had any, here was her husband hurrying her away to a country where there was nothing lower than a cent. She wouldn't even try to use the time she had, but sat in the house, and now had the bottle out and looked at it with unspeakable fear, and now, with hatred, hid it out of sight.

Keawe was angrier than ever. Angry with her because she was thinking of the old man; and with himself, because he thought she was right and was ashamed to be so happy. He wandered in the town all day. He met friends and drank with them until all their money was gone. Keawe agreed with a nasty old sailor among them that he should get some more money from his wife, as she was rich. But the old sailor laughed and told him not to disturb his wife unless he wanted to find her with her lover.

"I shouldn't be surprised," Keawe thought. "Why else should she be so upset on the best day of my life? I'll catch her with him."

Keawe went home with the sailor and opened the back door softly and looked in. There was Kokua on the floor, the lamp at her side; before her was a milk-white bottle. Keawe stood a long time and looked. At first he was too frightened to move. And then he had another thought - a strange one that made his cheeks burn.

"I must make sure of this," he thought.

So he closed the door, and went softly round the corner again, told the old sailor to wait, and then came noisily in, as though he'd just returned. And by the time he opened the front door, no bottle was to be seen; and Kokua sat in a chair like someone who'd just woken up.

"I've been drinking all day," said Keawe. "I've been with good friends and now I've only come back for some money and will return to drink with them again."

He went to get some money and glanced at the place where they usually kept the bottle. It wasn't there.

"It's what I was afraid of," he thought. "She's bought it."

Now, the money that Keawe had taken was some of the centime pieces. He wasn't thinking of drinking. His wife had given her soul for him, now he must give his. At the corner, the old sailor was waiting for him.

"My wife has the bottle," said Keawe, "and, unless you help me to recover it, there can be no more money and no more drink tonight."

"You don't mean to say you're serious about that bottle?" cried the sailor.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"That's true," said the sailor. "You look as serious as a ghost."

"Well, then," said Keawe, "here are two centimes. You must go to my wife and offer her these for the bottle, which she should give you at once. Bring it to me here and I'll buy it back from you for one; for that is the law with this bottle -; that it must be sold for a smaller sum. But whatever you do, never say a word to her about coming from me. If you doubt what I'm saying," added Keawe, "you can try it. As soon as you're away from the house, wish to have your pocket full of money or for a bottle of the best rum, or whatever you want."

So the old sailor went off and Keawe waited. It was near the same spot where Kokua had waited the night before. It seemed a long time before he heard a voice singing in the darkness. He knew the voice to be the sailor's; but it was strange how drunk it seemed.

Then, the man came stumbling into the light. He had the devil's bottle in his coat; another bottle was in his hand; and even as he came in view he raised it to his mouth and drank.

"You have it," said Keawe. "I see that."

"Hands off!" cried the sailor, jumping back. "Take a step nearer and I'll smash you in the mouth. This is a very good bottle, this is. How I got it for two centimes I can't understand, but I'm sure you can't have it for one."

"You mean you won't sell?" gasped Keawe.

"No!" cried the sailor. "But I'll give you a drink of rum, if you like."

"I tell you," said Keawe, "the man who has that bottle goes to hell."

"I reckon I'm going anyway," replied the sailor; "and this bottle's the best thing to go with. No, sir!" he cried again, "this is my bottle now and you can go and find another."

"Can this be true?" Keawe cried. "For your own sake, sell it to me!"

"If you won't have a rum, I'll have one myself. Here's to your health and good night to you!"

So off he went down the road towards town, and there goes the bottle and the story.