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As the waters rose higher her cries became more terrified until they reached the Island of Maui and the ears of her son. Through the darkness Maui could see the strange warning cloud, unusually large and mysterious. With his mother's cries ringing in his ears he bounded down the mountain to his canoe, which he sent across the sea to the mouth of the Wailuku with two strong sweeps of his paddle.
Time hung heavy on his hands. Uneventful days of quiet had fallen upon the land. Adventure seemed to be in hiding, and no exploit invited to service this active youngster's shining spear or magic club. Idleness grew more and more unbearable. Now Laamaomao, god of the winds, dwelt not far above Rainbow Falls in the beautiful gorge of the Wailuku and to him Maui confided his discontent.
The difference in this respect was forcibly brought home to me when, later in the day, we made an automobile trip from Wailuku to Lahaina on the southwest side; in going less than twenty miles we quickly passed from the region of verdant valleys and mountain-slopes into a hard, raw, barren, unweathered region, where there was no soil, and where the rocks looked as crude and forbidding as they must have looked the day they flowed out from the depths as molten lava.
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