Northward, along the leeward coast of Malaita, the _Ariel_ worked her leisurely way, threading the colour-riotous lagoon that lay between the shore-reefs and outer-reefs, daring passages so narrow and coral-patched that Captain Winters averred each day added a thousand grey hairs to his head, and dropping anchor off every walled inlet of the outer reef and every mangrove swamp of the mainland that looked promising of cannibal life.

For Harley and Villa Kennan were in no hurry.

So long as the way was interesting, they dared not how long it proved from anywhere to anywhere.
During this time Jerry learned a new name for himself--or, rather, an entire series of names for himself.

This was because of an aversion on Harley Kennan's part against renaming a named thing.
"A name he must have had," he argued to Villa.

"Haggin must have named him before he sailed on the _Arangi_.