Quite a broad tract of land near the temple, extending from the sea to
the mountain, was sacred to the god Lono in olden times—so sacred that
if a common native set his sacrilegious foot upon it, it was judicious
for him to make his will, because his time had come. He might go around
it by water, but he could not cross it. It was well sprinkled with pagan
temples and stocked with awkward, homely idols carved out of logs of
wood. There was a temple devoted to prayers for rain—and with fine
sagacity it was placed at a point so well up on the mountain side that
if you prayed there twenty-four times a day for rain you would be likely
to get it every time. You would seldom get to your Amen before you would
have to hoist your umbrella.