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diff --git a/43620.txt b/43620.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f95f485..0000000 --- a/43620.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8782 +0,0 @@ - DOING AND DARING - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: Doing and Daring - A New Zealand Story -Author: Eleanor Stredder -Release Date: September 02, 2013 [EBook #43620] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOING AND DARING *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - -[Illustration: THE OLD CHIEF. Page 81.] - - - - - [Illustration: Pre-title page] - - - - DOING AND DARING - - A New Zealand Story - - - BY - - ELEANOR STREDDER - - _Author of "Lost in the Wilds," "The Merchant's Children," - "Jack and his Ostrich," - etc._ - - - - "Who counts his brother's welfare - As sacred as his own, - And loves, forgives, and pities, - He serveth Me alone. - I note each gracious purpose, - Each kindly word and deed; - Are ye not all my children! - Shall not the Father heed?" - WHITTIER. - - - - T. NELSON AND SONS - _London, Edinburgh, and New York_ - 1899 - - - - - *Contents* - - I. IN THE MOUNTAIN GORGE - II. THE WHARE BY THE LAKE - III. A RIDE THROUGH THE BUSH - IV. THE NEW HOME - V. POSTING A LETTER - VI. MIDNIGHT ALARMS - VII. THE RAIN OF MUD - VIII. A RAGING SEA - IX. NOTHING TO EAT - X. THE MAORI BOY - XI. WIDESPREAD DESOLATION - XII. EDWIN'S DISCOVERY - XIII. FEEDING THE HUNGRY - XIV. RAIN AND FLOOD - XV. WHO HAS BEEN HERE? - XVI. LOSS AND SUSPICION - XVII. EDWIN IN DANGER - XVIII. WHERO TO THE RESCUE - XIX. MET AT LAST - XX. JUST IN TIME - XXI. THE VALLEY FARM - - - - - *DOING AND DARING.* - - - *CHAPTER I.* - - *IN THE MOUNTAIN GORGE.* - - -It was a glorious autumn day, when the New Zealand bush was at its -loveliest--as enchanting as if it truly were the fairy ground of the -Southern Ocean; yet so unlike every European forest that weariness -seemed banished by its ceaseless variety. Here the intertwining branches -of majestic trees, with leaves of varied hue, shut out the sky, and -seemed to roof the summer road which wound its devious track towards the -hills; there a rich fern-clad valley, from which the murmuring sound of -falling water broke like music on the ear. Onwards still a little -farther, and an overgrown creek, gently wandering between steep banks of -rich dark fern and graceful palm, came suddenly out of the greenwood -into an open space, bounded by a wall of rock, rent by a darkling chasm, -where the waters of the creek, tumbling over boulder stone and fallen -tree, broadened to a rushing river. Along its verge the road continued, -a mere wheel-track cut in the rock, making it a perilous crossing, as -the driver of the weekly mail knew full well. - -His heavy, lumbering coach was making its way towards it at that moment, -floundering through the two feet deep of mud which New Zealanders call a -bush road. The five poor horses could only walk, and found that hard -work, while the passengers had enough to do to keep their seats. - -Fortunately the coach was already lightened of a part of its load, some -fares with which it started having reached their destination at the last -stopping-place. The seven remaining consisted of a rough, -jolly-looking, good-humoured fellow, bound for the surveyors' camp among -the hills; an old identity, as New Zealanders call a colonist who has -been so long resident in the land of his adoption that he has completely -identified himself with it; and a newly-arrived settler with his four -children, journeying to take possession of a government allotment in the -Waikato district. - -With the first two passengers long familiarity with the discomforts of -bush travelling had grown to indifference; but to Mr. Lee and his family -the experience was a trying one, as the coach swayed heavily to this -side and that, backwards and forwards, up and down, like a boat on a -rough sea. More than once Mr. Lee's little girls were precipitated into -the arms of their _vis-a-vis_, or bumped backwards with such violence a -breakage seemed inevitable; but which would suffer the most, the coach -or its passengers, was an open question. - -Any English-made vehicle with springs must have been smashed to pieces; -but the New Zealand mail had been constructed to suit the exigencies of -the country. With its frame of iron and sides of leather, it could -resist an amount of wear and tear perfectly incredible to Mr. Lee. He -sat with an arm round each of his daughters, vainly trying to keep them -erect in their places. Their two brothers bobbed recklessly from corner -to corner, thinking nothing of the bruises in their ever-increasing -merriment when the edge of Erne's broad-brimmed straw hat went dash into -the navvy's eyes, or Audrey's gray dust-cloak got entangled in the -buckles of the old identity's travelling-bag. - -Audrey, with a due regard for the proprieties, began a blushing apology. - -"My dear child," exclaimed the portly old gentleman, "you speak as if I -did not know you could not help it." - -The words were scarcely uttered, when the whole weight of his sixteen -stone went crushing on to little Cuthbert, who emerged from the jolly -squeeze with a battered hat and an altogether flattened appearance. Then -came an unexpected breathing-space. The coachman stopped to leave a -parcel at the roadman's hut, nestling beneath the shelter of the rocks -by the entrance of the gorge. - -New Zealand roads are under the care of the government, who station men -at intervals all along their route to keep them in order. The special -duty of this individual was to see that no other traffic entered the -gorge when the coach was passing through it. Whilst he exchanged -greetings with the coachman, the poor passengers with one accord gave a -stretch and a yawn as they drew themselves into a more comfortable -position. - -On again with renewed jolts between the towering walls of rock, with a -rush of water by their side drowning the rumble of the wheels. The view -was grand beyond description, but no rail or fence protected the edge of -the stream. - -Mr. Lee was leaning out of the window, watching anxiously the narrow -foot of road between them and destruction, when, with a sudden lurch, -over went the coach to the other side. - -"A wheel off," groaned the old identity, as he knocked heads with the -navvy, and became painfully conscious of a struggling heap of arms and -legs encumbering his feet. - -[Illustration: AN AWKWARD PLIGHT.] - -Audrey clung to the door-handle, and felt herself slowly elevating. Mr. -Lee, with one arm resting on the window-frame, contrived to hang on. As -the coach lodged against the wall of rock, he scrambled out. Happily -the window owned no glass, and the leathern blind was up. The driver -was flung from his seat, and the horses were kicking. His first thought -was to seize the reins, for fear the frightened five should drag them -over the brink. The shaft-horse was down, but as the driver tumbled to -his feet, he cut the harness to set the others free; earnestly exhorting -the passengers to keep where they were until he could extricate his -horses. - -But Edwin, the eldest boy, had already followed the example of his -father. He had wriggled himself out of the window, and was dropping to -the ground down the back of the coach, which completely blocked the -narrow road. - -His father and the coachman both shouted to him to fetch the roadman to -their help. It was not far to the hut at the entrance of the gorge, and -the boy, who had been reckoned a first-rate scout on the cricket-field, -ran off with the speed of a hare. The navvy's stentorian "coo"--the -recognized call for assistance--was echoing along the rocky wall as he -went. The roadman had heard it, and had left his dinner to listen. He -saw the panting boy, and came to meet him. - -"Coach upset," gasped Edwin. - -"Here, lad, take my post till I come back; let nobody come this way. -I'll be up with poor coachee in no time. Anybody hurt?" - -But without waiting for a reply the man set off. Edwin sank into the bed -of fern that clustered round the opening of the chasm, feeling as if all -the breath had been shaken out of him. There he sat looking queer for -an hour or more, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but the dancing leaves, -the swaying boughs, the ripple of the waters. Only once a big brown rat -came out of the underwood and looked at him. The absence of all animal -life in the forest struck him: even the birds sing only in the most -retired recesses. An ever-increasing army of sand-flies were doing their -utmost to drive him from his position. Unable at last to endure their -stings, he sprang up, trying to rid himself of his tormentors by a shake -and a dance, when he perceived a solitary horseman coming towards him, -not by the coach-road, but straight across the open glade. - -The man was standing in his stirrups, and seemed to guide his horse by a -gentle shake of the rein. On he rode straight as an arrow, making -nothing of the many impediments in his path. Edwin saw him dash across -the creek, plunge through the all but impenetrable tangle of a wild -flax-bush, whose tough and fibrous leaves were nine feet long at least, -leap over a giant boulder some storm had hurled from the rocks above, -and rein in his steed with easy grace at the door of the roadman's -shanty. Then Edwin noticed that the man, whose perfect command of his -horse had already won his boyish admiration, had a big mouth and a dusky -skin, that his cheeks were furrowed with wavy lines encircling each -other. - -IN THE MOUNTAIN GORGE. 15 - -"A living tattoo," thought Edwin. The sight of those curiously drawn -lines was enough to proclaim a native. - -Some Maori chief, the boy was inclined to believe by his good -English-made saddle. The tall black hat he wore might have been -imported from Bond Street at the beginning of the season, barring the -sea-bird's feathers stuck upright in the band. His legs were bare. A -striped Austrian blanket was thrown over one shoulder and carefully -draped about him. A snowy shirt sleeve was rolled back from the dusky -arm he had raised to attract Edwin's attention. A striped silk scarf, -which might have belonged to some English lady, was loosely knotted -round his neck, with the ends flying behind him. A scarlet coat, which -had lost its sleeves, completed his grotesque appearance. - -"Goo'-mornin'," he shouted. "Coach gone by yet?" - -"The coach is upset on that narrow road," answered Edwin, pointing to -the ravine, "and no one can pass this way." - -"Smashed?" asked the stranger in tolerable English, brushing away the -ever-ready tears of the Maori as he sprang to the ground, expecting to -find the treasure he had commissioned the coachman to purchase for him -was already broken into a thousand pieces. Then Edwin remembered the -coachman had left a parcel at the hut as they passed; and they both went -inside to look for it. They found it laid on the bed at the back of the -hut--a large, flat parcel, two feet square. - -The address was printed on it in letters half-an-inch high: "Nga-Hepe, -Rota Pah." - -"That's me!" cried the stranger, the tears of apprehension changing into -bursts of joyous laughter as he seized it lovingly, and seemed to -consider for a moment how he was to carry it away. A shadow passed over -his face; some sudden recollection changed his purpose. He laid his -hand persuasively on Edwin's shoulder, saying, "Hepe too rich, Nga-Hepe -too rich; the rana will come. Hide it, keep it safe till Nga-Hepe comes -again to fetch it." - -Edwin explained why he was waiting there. He had only scrambled out of -the fallen coach to call the roadman, and would soon be gone. - -"You pakeha [white man] fresh from Ingarangi land? you Lee?" exclaimed -the Maori, taking a letter from the breast-pocket of his sleeveless -coat, as Edwin's surprised "Yes" confirmed his conjecture. - -The boy took the letter from him, and recognized at once the bold black -hand of a friend of his father's whose house was to be their next -halting-place. The letter was addressed to Mr. Lee, to be left in the -care of the coachman. - -Meanwhile, the roadman had reached the scene of the overturn just as the -navvy had succeeded in getting the door of the coach open. Audrey and -Effie were hoisted from the arms of one rough man to another, and seated -on a ledge of rock a few feet from the ground, where Mr. Lee, who was -still busy with the horses, could see the torn gray cloak and waving -handkerchief hastening to assure him they were unhurt. - -Poor little Cuthbert was crying on the ground. His nose was bleeding -from a blow received from one of the numerous packages which had flown -out from unseen corners in the suddenness of the shock. - -"Mr. Bowen," said the navvy, "now is your turn." - -But to extricate the stout old gentleman, who had somehow lamed himself -in the general fall, was a far more difficult matter. - -The driver, who scarcely expected to get through a journey without some -disaster, was a host in himself. He got hold of the despairing -traveller by one arm, the roadman grasped the other, assuring him, in -contradiction to his many assertions, that his climbing days were not -all over; the navvy gave a leg up from within, and in spite of slips and -bruises they had him seated on the bank at last, puffing and panting -from the exertion. "Now, old chap," added the roadman, with rough -hospitality, "take these poor children back to my hut; and have a rest, -and make yourself at home with such tucker as you can find, while we get -the coach righted." - -"We will all come down and help you with the tucker when our work is -done," laughed the navvy, as the three set to their task with a will, -and began to heave up the coach with cautious care. The many -ejaculatory remarks which reached the ears of Audrey and Mr. Bowen -filled them with dismay. - -"Have a care, or she'll be over into the water," said one. - -"No, she won't," retorted another; "but who on earth can fix this wheel -on again so that it will keep? Look here, the iron has snapped -underneath. What is to be done?" - -"We have not far to go," put in the coachman. "I'll make it hold that -distance, you'll see." - -A wild-flax bush was never far to seek. A few of its tough, fibrous -leaves supplied him with excellent rope of nature's own making. - -Mr. Bowen watched the trio binding up the splintered axle, and tying -back the iron frame-work of the coach, where it had snapped, with a -rough and ready skill which seemed to promise success. Still he foresaw -some hours would go over the attempt, and even then it might end in -failure. - -He was too much hurt to offer them any assistance, but he called to -Cuthbert to find him a stick from the many bushes and trees springing -out of every crack and crevice in the rocky sides of the gorge, that he -might take the children to the roadman's hut. They arrived just as -Nga-Hepe was shouting a "Goo'-mornin'" to Edwin. In fact, the Maori had -jumped on his horse, and was cantering off, when Mr. Bowen stopped him -with the question,-- - -"Any of your people about here with a canoe? I'll pay them well to row -me through this gorge," he added. - -"The coach is so broken," said Audrey aside to her brother, "we are -afraid they cannot mend it safely." - -"Never mind," returned Edwin cheerily; "we cannot be far from Mr. -Hirpington's. This man has brought a letter from him. Where is -father?" - -"Taking care of the horses; and we cannot get at him," she replied. - -Mr. Bowen heard what they were saying, and caught at the good news--not -far from Hirpington's, where the Lees were to stop. "How far?" he -turned to the Maori. - -"Not an hour's ride from the Rota Pah, or lake village, where the Maori -lived." The quickest way to reach the ford, he asserted, was to take a -short cut through the bush, as he had done. - -Mr. Bowen thought he would rather by far trust himself to native -guidance than enter the coach again. But there were no more horses to -be had, for the coachman's team was out of reach, as the broken-down -vehicle still blocked the path. - -Nga-Hepe promised, as soon as he got to his home, to row down stream and -fetch them all to Mr. Hirpington's in his canoe. Meanwhile, Edwin had -rushed off to his father with the letter. It was to tell Mr. Lee the -heavy luggage he had sent on by packet had been brought up from the -coast all right. - -"You could get a ride behind Hirpington's messenger," said the men to -Edwin, "and beg him to come to our help." The Maori readily assented. - -They were soon ascending the hilly steep and winding through a leafy -labyrinth of shadowy arcades, where ferns and creepers trailed their -luxuriant foliage over rotting tree trunks. Deeper and deeper they went -into the hoary, silent bush, where song of bird or ring of axe is -listened for in vain. All was still, as if under a spell. Edwin looked -up with something akin to awe at the giant height of mossy pines, or -peered into secluded nooks where the sun-shafts darted fitfully over -vivid shades of glossy green, revealing exquisite forms of unimagined -ferns, "wasting their sweetness on the desert air." Amid his native -fastnesses the Maori grew eloquent, pointing out each conical hill, -where his forefathers had raised the wall and dug the ditch. Over every -trace of these ancient fortifications Maori tradition had its fearsome -story to repeat. Here was the awful war-feast of the victor; there an -unyielding handful were cut to pieces by the foe. - -How Edwin listened, catching something of the eager glow of his excited -companion, looking every inch--as he knew himself to be--the lord of the -soil, the last surviving son of the mighty Hepe, whose name had struck -terror from shore to shore. - -As the Maori turned in his saddle, and darted suspicious glances from -side to side, it seemed to Edwin some expectation of a lurking danger -was rousing the warrior spirit within him. - -They had gained the highest ridge of the wall of rock, and before them -gloomed a dark descent. Its craggy sides were riven and disrupted, -where cone and chasm told the same startling story, that here, in the -forgotten long ago, the lava had poured its stream of molten fire -through rending rocks and heaving craters. But now a maddened river was -hissing and boiling along the channels they had hollowed. It was -leaping, with fierce, impatient swoop, over a blackened mass of -downfallen rock, scooping for itself a caldron, from which, with -redoubled hiss and roar, it darted headlong, rolling over on itself, and -then, as if in weariness, spreading and broadening to the kiss of the -sun, until it slept like a tranquil lake in the heart of the hills. For -the droughts of summer had broadened the muddy reaches, which now seemed -to surround the giant boulders until they almost spanned the junction. - -Where the stream left the basin a mass of huge logs chained together, -forming what New Zealanders call a "boom," was cast across it, waiting -for the winter floods to help them to start once more on their downward -swim to the broader waters of the Waikato, of which this shrunken stream -would then become a tributary. - -On the banks of the lake, or rota--to give it the Maori name--Edwin -looked down upon the high-peaked roofs of a native village nestling -behind its protecting wall. - -As the wind drove back the light vapoury cloudlets which hovered over -the huts and whares (as the better class of Maori dwellings are styled), -Edwin saw a wooden bridge spanning the running ditch which guarded the -entrance. - -His ears were deafened by a strange sound, as if hoarsely echoing -fog-horns were answering each other from the limestone cliffs, when a -cart-load of burly natives crossed their path. As the wheels rattled -over the primitive drawbridge, a noisy greeting was shouted out to the -advancing horseman--a greeting which seemed comprised in a single word -the English boy instinctively construed "Beware." But the warning, if -it were a warning, ended in a hearty laugh, which made itself heard -above the shrill whistling from the jets of steam, sputtering and -spouting from every fissure in the rocky path Nga-Hepe was descending, -until another blast from those mysterious fog-horns drowned every other -noise. - -With a creepy sense of fear he would have been loath to own, Edwin -looked ahead for some sign of the ford which was his destination; for he -knew that his father's friend, Mr. Hirpington, held the onerous post of -ford-master under the English Government in that weird, wild land of -wonder, the hill-country of the north New Zealand isle. - - - - - *CHAPTER II.* - - *THE WHARE BY THE LAKE.* - - -A deep fellow-feeling for his wild, high-spirited guide was growing in -Edwin's mind as they rode onward. Nga-Hepe glanced over his shoulder -more than once to satisfy himself as to the effect the Maori's warning -had had upon his young companion. - -Edwin returned the hasty inspection with a look of careless coolness, as -he said to himself, "Whatever this means, I have nothing to do with it." -Not a word was spoken, but the flash of indignant scorn in Nga-Hepe's -brilliant eyes told Edwin that he was setting it at defiance. - -On he spurred towards the weather-beaten walls, which had braved so many -a mountain gale. - -A faint, curling column of steamy vapour was rising from the hot waters -which fed the moat, and wafted towards them a most unpleasant smell of -sulphur, which Edwin was ready to denounce as odious. To the Maori it -was dear as native air: better than the breath of sweet-brier and roses. - -Beyond the bridge Edwin could see a pathway made of shells, as white and -glistening as if it were a road of porcelain. It led to the central -whare, the council-hall of the tribe and the home of its chief. Through -the light haze of steam which veiled everything Edwin could distinguish -its carved front, and the tall post beside it, ending in a kind of -figure-head with gaping mouth, and a blood-red tongue hanging out of it -like a weary dog's. This was the flagstaff. The cart had stopped beside -it, and its recent occupants were now seated on the steps of the whare, -laughing over the big letters of a printed poster which they were -exhibiting to their companions. - -"Nothing very alarming in that," thought Edwin, as Nga-Hepe gave his -bridle-rein a haughty shake and entered the village. He threaded his -way between the huts of mat and reeds, and the wood-built whares, each -in its little garden. Here and there great bunches of home-grown -tobacco were drying under a little roof of thatch; behind another hut a -dead pig was hanging; a little further on, a group of naked children -were tumbling about and bathing in a steaming pool; beside another -tent-shaped hut there was a huge pile of potatoes, while a rush basket -of fish lay by many a whare door. - -In this grotesque and novel scene Edwin almost forgot his errand, and -half believed he had misunderstood the hint of danger, as he watched the -native women cooking white-bait over a hole in the ground, and saw the -hot springs shooting up into the air, hissing and boiling in so strange -a fashion the English boy was fairly dazed. - -Almost all the women were smoking, and many of them managed to keep a -baby riding on their backs as they turned their fish or gossiped with -their neighbours. Edwin could not take his eyes off the sputtering -mud-holes doing duty as kitchen fires until they drew near to the -tattooed groups of burly men waiting for their supper on the steps of -the central whare. Then many a dusky brow was lifted, and more than one -cautionary glance was bestowed upon his companion, whilst others saw him -pass them with a scowl. - -Nga-Hepe met it with a laugh. A Maori scorns to lose his temper, come -what may. As he leaped the steaming ditch and left the village by a gap -in the decaying wall, he turned to Edwin, observing, with a pride which -bordered on satisfaction: "The son of Hepe is known by all men to be -rich and powerful, therefore the chief has spoken against him." - -"Much you care for the chief," retorted Edwin. - -"I am not of his tribe," answered Nga-Hepe. "I come of the Ureweras, -the noblest and purest of our race. Our dead men rest upon the sacred -hills where the Maori chiefs lie buried. When a child of Hepe dies," he -went on, pointing to the mountain range, "the thunder rolls and the -lightning flashes along those giant hills, that all men may know his -hour has come. No matter where the Hepe lay concealed, men always knew -when danger threatened him. They always said such and such a chief is -dying, because the thunder and lightning are in such a place. Look up! -the sky is calm and still. The hills are silent; Mount Tarawera rears -its threefold crest above them all in its own majestic grandeur. Well, -I know no real danger menaces me to-night." - -"I trust you are right, Nga-Hepe, but--" began Edwin quickly. The Maori -turned his head away; he could admit no "buts," and the English boy made -vain endeavours to argue the question. - -A noisy, boisterous jabbering arose from the village as the crowd -outside the grand whare hailed the decision of the elders holding -council within. Dogs, pigs, and boys added their voices to the general -acclamation, and drowned Edwin's so completely he gave up in despair; -and after all he thought, "Can any one wonder at Nga-Hepe clinging to -the old superstitions of his race? In the wild grandeur of a spot like -this it seems in keeping." - -So he said no more. They crossed the broken ground. Before them -gleamed the waters of the lake, upon whose bank Nga-Hepe's house was -standing--the old ancestral whare, the dwelling-place of the Hepes -generation after generation. Its well-thatched roof was higher than any -of the roofs in the pah, and more pointed. The wood of which this whare -was built was carved into idol figures and grinning monsters, now black -and shining with excessive age. - -The garden around it was better cultivated, and the ample store of roots -and grain in the smaller whare behind it told of the wealth of its -owner. Horses and pigs were snorting and squealing beneath the hoary -trees, overshadowing the mud-hole and the geyser spring, by which the -Maori loves to make his home. The canoe was riding on the lake, the -lovely lake, as clear and blue as the sky it mirrored. - -The sight of it recalled Edwin to his purpose, and he once more -questioned Nga-Hepe as to the whereabouts of the ford. - -"Enter and eat," said the Maori, alighting at his low-browed door. - -The gable end of the roof projected over it like a porch, and Edwin -paused under its shadow to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. Beneath -the broad eaves huge bundles of native flax and tobacco were drying. In -the centre of the long room within there was a blazing fire of crackling -wood. But its cheerful welcome seemed to contend with a sense of -desertion which pervaded the place. - -Nga-Hepe called in vain for his accustomed attendant to take his horse. -No one answered his summons. He shouted; no answer. The wooden walls of -the neighbouring pah faintly echoed back his words. All his men were -gone. He muttered something in his own tongue, which Edwin could not -understand, as he led the way into the long room. In so grand a whare -this room was divided into separate stalls, like a well-built stable. -An abundance of native mats strewed the floor. - -The Maori's eyes fell upon the corner where his greenstone club, the -treasured heirloom of many generations, leaned against an English rifle, -and on the boar's tusks fixed in the wall at intervals, where his spears -and fishing-rods were ranged in order. By their side hung a curious -medley of English apparel. The sweeping feathers of a broad felt hat -drooped above a gaudy table-cloth, which by its many creases seemed to -have done duty on the person of its owner. Edwin's merriment was excited -by the number of scent-bottles, the beautiful cut-glass carafe, and many -other expensive articles suspended about the room--all bearing a silent -testimony to the wealth of which Nga-Hepe had spoken. Two happy-looking -children, each wearing a brightly-coloured handkerchief folded across -their tiny shoulders in true Maori fashion, were grinding at a -barrel-organ. One fat little knee served as a pillow for a tangle of -rough black hair, which a closer inspection showed him was the head of a -sleeping boy. - -Nga-Hepe's wife, wearing a cloak of flowered silk, with a baby slung in -a shawl at her back, and a short pipe in her mouth, met him with soft -words of pleading remonstrance which Edwin could not understand. - -Her husband patted her fondly on the arm, touched the baby's laughing -lips, and seated himself on the floor by the fire, inviting Edwin to -join him. - -The sleeping boy gave a great yawn, and starting to his feet, seemed to -add his entreaties to his mother's. He held a book in his hand--a -geography, with coloured maps--which he had evidently been studying; but -he dropped it in despair, as his father only called for his supper. - -"Help us to persuade him," he whispered to Edwin in English; "he may -listen to a pakeha. Tell him it is better to go away." - -"Why?" asked Edwin. - -"Why!" repeated the boy excitedly; "because the chief is threatening him -with a muru. He will send a band of men to eat up all the food, and -carry off everything we have that can be carried away; but they will -only come when father is at home." - -"A bag of talk!" interrupted Nga-Hepe. "Shall it be said the son of the -warrior sneaks off and hides himself at the first threat?" - -"But," urged Edwin, "you promised to row back for Mr. Bowen." - -"Yes, and I will. I will eat, and then I go," persisted Nga-Hepe, as -his wife stamped impatiently. - -Two or three women ran in with the supper which they had been cooking in -a smaller whare in the background. They placed the large dishes on the -floor: native potatoes--more resembling yams in their sweetness than -their English namesakes--boiled thistles, and the ancient Maori -delicacy, salted shark. - -They all began to eat, taking the potatoes in their hands, when a wild -cry rang through the air--a cry to strike terror to any heart. It was -the first note of the Maori war-song, caught up and repeated by a dozen -powerful voices, until it became a deafening yell. Hepe's wife tore -frantically at her long dark hair. - -The Maori rose to his feet with an inborn dignity, and grasped the -greenstone club, taking pride in the prestige of such a punishment. -Turning to Edwin he said: "When the ferns are on fire the sparks fall -far and wide. Take the horse--it is yours; I give it to you. It is the -last gift I shall have it in my power to make for many a day to come. -There lies your path through the bush; once on the open road again the -ford-house will be in sight, and Whero shall be your guide. Tell the -old pakeha the canoe is mine no more." - -The woman snatched up the children and rushed away with them, uttering a -wailing cry. - -Edwin knew he had no alternative, but he did not like the feeling of -running away in the moment of peril. - -"Can't I help you, though I am only a boy?" he asked. - -"Yes," answered Hepe's wife, as she almost pushed him out of the door in -her desperation; "take this." - -She lifted up a heavy bag from the corner of the whare, and put it into -his hands. Whero had untied the horse, and was pointing to the distant -pah, from which the yells proceeded. - -A band of armed men, brandishing clubs and spears, were leading off the -war-dance. Their numbers were swelling. The word of fear went round -from lip to lip, "The tana is coming!" - -The tana is the band of armed men sent by the chief to carry out this -act of savage despotism. They had been on the watch for Nga-Hepe. They -had seen him riding through the pah. All hope of getting him out of the -way was over. - -Father and mother joined in the last despairing desire to send off -Whero, their little lord and first-born, of whom the Maoris make so -much, and treat with so much deference. They never dreamed of ordering -him to go. A freeborn Maori brooks no control even in childhood. But -their earnest entreaties prevailed. He got up before Edwin. He would -not ride behind him, not he, to save his life. He yielded for the sake -of the horse he loved so well. He thought he might get it back from the -young pakeha, but who could wrest it from the grasp of the tana? Perhaps -Nga-Hepe shared the hope. The noble horse was dear to father and son. - -"Oh, I am so sorry for you!" said Edwin as he guessed the truth; "and so -will father be, I'm sure." He stopped in sudden silence as another -terrific yell echoed back by lake and tree. - -He felt the good horse quiver as they plunged into the safe shelter of -the bush, leaving Hepe leaning on his club on the threshold of his -whare. - -Edwin's first care now was to get to Mr. Hirpington's as fast as he -could. But his desire to press on met with no sympathy from his -companion, who knew not how to leave the spot until his father's fate -was decided. He had backed the horse into the darkest shadow of the -trees, and here he wanted to lie in ambush and watch; for the advancing -warriors were surrounding the devoted whare, and the shrieking women -were flying from it into the bush. - -How could Edwin stop him when Whero would turn back to meet his mother? -The rendezvous of the fugitives was a tall karaka tree--a forest king -rearing its giant stem full seventy feet above the mossy turf. A -climbing plant, ablaze with scarlet flowers, had wreathed itself among -the branches, and hung in long festoons which swept the ground. The -panting women flung themselves down, and dropped their heavy burdens at -its root; for all had snatched up the nearest thing which came to hand -as they ran out. One had wrapped the child she carried in a fishing-net; -another drew from beneath the folds of the English counterpane she was -wearing the long knife that had been lying on the floor by the dish of -shark; while Whero's mother, shaking her wealth of uncombed hair about -her like a natural veil, concealed in her arms a ponderous axe. - -The big black horse gave a loving whinny as he recognized their -footsteps, and turning of his own accord, cantered up to them as they -began to raise the death-wail--doing tangi as they call it--over the -outcast children crying for the untasted supper, on which the invaders -were feasting. - -"May it choke the pigs!" muttered Whero, raising himself in the stirrups -and catching at the nearest bough, he gave it a shake, which sent a -shower of the karaka nuts tumbling down upon the little black heads and -fighting fists. The women stopped their wail to crack and eat. The -horse bent down his head to claim a share, and the children scrambled to -their feet to scoop the sweet kernel from the opened shell. The hungry -boys were forced to join them, and Edwin found to his surprise that leaf -and nut alike were good and wholesome food. They ate in silence and -fear, as the wild woods rang with the shouts of triumph and derision as -the rough work of confiscation went forward in the whare. - -With the much-needed food Edwin's energy was returning. He gave back -the bag to Whero's mother, assuring her if her son would only guide him -to the road he could find his own way to the ford. - -"Let us all go farther into the bush," said the oldest woman of the -group, "before the tana comes out. The bush they cannot take from us, -and all we need the most the bush will provide." - -The weight of the bag he had carried convinced Edwin it was full of -money. - -Whero's mother was looking about for a place where she could hide it; so -they wandered on until the sun shone brightly between the opening trees, -and they stepped out upon an unexpected clearing. - -"The road! the road!" cried Whero, pointing to the gleam of water in the -distance, and the dark roof of the house by the ford, half buried in the -white blossom of the acacia grove beside it. - -"All right!" exclaimed Edwin joyfully. "You need go no farther." - -He took the bridle from Whero, and turned the horse's head towards the -ford, loath to say farewell to his strange companions. As he went at a -steady trot along the road, he could not keep from looking back. He saw -they were burying the bag of treasure where two white pines grew near -together, and the wild strawberries about their roots were ripening in -the sun. The road, a mere clearing in the forest, lay straight before -him. As Nga-Hepe had said, an hour's ride brought him to Mr. -Hirpington's door. - -The house was large and low, built entirely of corrugated iron. It was -the only spot of ugliness in the whole landscape. A grassy bank higher -than Edwin's head surrounded the home enclosure, and lovely white-winged -pigeons were hovering over the yellow gorse, which formed an -impenetrable wall on the top of the bank. A gate stood open, and by its -side some rough steps cut in the rock led down to the riverbed, through -a tangle of reeds and bulrushes. Like most New Zealand rivers, the bed -was ten times wider than the stream, and the stretch of mud on either -side increased the difficulties of the crossing. - -Edwin rode up to the gate and dismounted, drew the bridle through the -ring in the post, and entered a delightful garden, where peach and -almond and cherry trees brought back a thought of home. The ground was -terraced towards the house, which was built on a jutting rock, to be out -of the reach of winter floods. Honeysuckle and fuchsia, which Edwin had -only known in their dwarfed condition in England, rose before him as -stately trees, tall as an English elm, eclipsing all the white and gold -of the acacias and laburnums, which sheltered the end of the house. - -The owner, spade in hand, was at work among his flower-beds. His dress -was as rough as the navvy's, and Edwin, who had studied Mr. Hirpington's -photograph so often, asked himself if this man, so brown and brawny and -broad, could be his father's friend? - -"Please, I'm Edwin Lee," said the boy bluntly. "Is Mr. Hirpington at -home?" - -The spade was thrown aside, and a hand all smeared with garden mould -grasped his own, and a genial voice exclaimed, "Yes, Hirpington is here, -bidding you heartily welcome! But how came you, my lad, to forerun the -coach?" - -Then Edwin poured into sympathetic ears the tale of their disaster, -adding earnestly, "I thought I had better come on with your messenger, -and tell you what had happened." - -"Coach with a wheel off in the gorge!" shouted Mr. Hirpington to a chum -in-doors, and Edwin knew he had found the friend in need, whose value no -one can estimate like a colonist. - -Before Edwin could explain why Nga-Hepe had failed in his promise to -return with his canoe, Mr. Hirpington was down the boating-stairs, -loosening his own "tub," as he called it, from its moorings. To the -Maori's peril he lent but half an ear. "No use our interfering there," -he said. "I'm off to your father." - -A head appeared at a window overlooking the bed of rushes, and two men -came out of the house door, and assisted him to push the boat into the -water. The window above was thrown open, and a hastily-filled basket was -handed down. Then a kind, motherly voice told Edwin to come in-doors. - -The room he entered was large and faultlessly clean, serving the -threefold purpose of kitchen, dining-room, and office. The desk by the -window, the gun in the corner, the rows of plates above the dresser, -scarcely seemed to encroach on each other, or make the long dining-table -look ashamed of their company. - -Mrs. Hirpington, who was expecting the "coach to sleep" under her roof -that night, was preparing her meat for the spit at the other end of the -room. The pipes and newspaper, which had been hastily thrown down at -the sound of Mr. Hirpington's summons, showed Edwin where the men had -been resting after their day's work. They were, as he guessed, employes -on the road, which was always requiring mending and clearing, while Mr. -Hirpington was their superintendent, as well as ford-keeper. - -His wife, in a homely cotton dress of her own making, turned to Edwin -with the well-bred manner of an English lady and the hearty hospitality -of a colonist. - -"Not a word about being in the way, my dear; the trouble is a pleasure. -We shall have you all here, a merry party, before long. There are worse -disasters than this at sea." She smiled as she delayed the roast, and -placed a chop on the grill for Edwin's benefit. - -The cozy sense of comfort which stole over him was so delightful, as he -stretched himself on the sofa on the other side of the fire, it made him -think the more of the homeless wanderers in the bush, and he began to -describe to Mrs. Hirpington the strange scene he had witnessed. - -A band of armed men marching out of the village filled her with -apprehension. She ran to the window overlooking the river to see if the -boat had pushed off, and called to the men remaining behind--for the -ford was never left--to know if the other roadmen had yet come in. - -"They are late," she said. "They must have heard the coachman's 'coo,' -and are before us with their help. They have gone down to the gorge. -You may rest easy about your father." - -But she could not rest easy. She looked to the loading of the guns, put -the bar in the gate herself, and held a long conference with Dunter over -the alarming intelligence. - -But the man knew more of Maori ways than she did, and understood it -better. "I'll not be saying," he answered, "but what it will be wise in -us to keep good watch until they have all dispersed. Still, with Hepe's -goods to carry off and divide, they will not be thinking of interfering -with us. Maybe you'll have Nga-Hepe's folk begging shelter as the night -draws on." - -"I hope not," she retorted quickly. "Give them anything they ask for, -but don't be tempted to open the gate. Tell them the coach is coming, -and the house is full." - -A blaze of fire far down the river called everybody into the garden. -Some one was signalling. But Dunter was afraid to leave Mrs. -Hirpington, and Mrs. Hirpington was equally afraid to be left. - -A great horror fell upon Edwin. "Can it be father?" he exclaimed. - -Dunter grasped the twisted trunk of the giant honeysuckle, and swung -himself on to the roof of the house to reconnoitre. Edwin was up beside -him in a moment. - -"Oh, it is nothing," laughed the man--"nothing but some chance traveller -waiting by the roadside for the expected coach, and, growing impatient, -has set a light to the dry branches of a ti tree to make sure of -stopping the coach." - -But the wind had carried the flames beyond the tree, and the fire was -spreading in the bush. - -"It will burn itself out," said Dunter carelessly; "no harm in that." - -But surely the coach was coming! - -Edwin looked earnestly along the line which the bush road had made -through the depths of the forest. He could see clearly to a considerable -distance. The fire was not far from the two white pines where he had -parted from his dusky companions, and soon he saw them rushing into the -open to escape from the burning fern. On they ran towards the ford, -scared by the advancing fire. How was Mrs. Hirpington to refuse to open -her gates and take them in? Women and children--it could not be done. - -Edwin was pleading at her elbow. - -"I saw it all, Mrs. Hirpington; I know how it happened. Nga-Hepe gave -me his horse, that I might escape in safety to you." - -"Well, well," she answered, resigning herself to the inevitable. "If -you will go out and meet them and bring them here, Dunter shall clear -the barn to receive them." - -Edwin slid down the rough stem of the honeysuckle and let himself out, -and ran along the road for about half-a-mile, waving his hat and calling -to the fugitives to come on, to come to the ford. - -The gray-haired woman in the counterpane, now begrimed with mud and -smoke, was the first to meet him. - -She shouted back joyfully, "The good wahini [woman] at the ford has sent -to fetch us. She hear the cry of the child. Good! good!" - -But the invitation met with no response from Whero and his mother. - -"Shall it be said by morning light Nga-Hepe's wife was sleeping in the -Ingarangi [English] bed, and he a dead man lying on the floor of his -forefathers' whare, with none to do tangi above him!" she exclaimed, -tearing fresh handfuls from her long dark hair in her fury. - -"Oh to be bigger and stronger," groaned Whero, "that I might play my -game with the greenstone club! but my turn will come." - -The blaze of passion in the boy's star-like eyes recalled his mother to -calmness. "What are you," she asked, "but an angry child to court the -blow of the warrior's club that would end your days? A man can bide his -hour. Go with the Ingarangi, boy." - -"Yes, go," urged her companion. - -A bright thought struck the gray-haired woman, and she whispered to -Edwin, "Get him away; get him safe to the Ingarangi school. Nothing can -reach him there. He loves their learning; it will make him a mightier -man than his fathers have ever been. If he stays with us, we can't hold -him back. He will never rest till he gets himself killed." - -"Ah, but my Whero will go back with the Ingarangi boy and beg a blanket -to keep the babies from the cold night wind," added his mother -coaxingly. - -"Come along," said Edwin, linking his arm in Whero's and setting off -with a run. "Now tell me all you want--blankets, and what else?" - -But the boy had turned sullen, and would not speak. He put his hands -before his face and sobbed as if his heart would break. - -"Where is the horse?" he asked abruptly, as they reached Mrs. -Hirpington's gate. - -"In there," said Edwin, pointing to the stable. - -The Maori boy sprang over the bar which Dunter had fixed across the -entrance to keep the horse in, and threw his arms round the neck of his -black favourite, crying more passionately than ever. - -"He is really yours," put in Edwin, trying to console him. "I do not -want to keep the horse when you can take him back. Indeed, I am not -sure my father will let me keep him." - -But he was speaking to deaf ears; so he left Whero hugging his -four-footed friend, and went in-doors for the blankets. Mrs. Hirpington -was very ready to send them; but when Edwin returned to the stable, he -found poor Whero fast asleep. - -"Just like those Maoris," laughed Dunter. "They drop off whatever they -are doing; it makes no difference. But remember, my man, there is a -good old saying, 'Let sleeping dogs lie.'" - -So, instead of waking Whero, they gently closed the stable-door; and -Edwin went off alone with the blankets on his shoulder. He found -Nga-Hepe's wife still seated by the roadside rocking her baby, with her -two bigger children asleep beside her. One dark head was resting on her -knee, the other nestling close against her shoulder. Edwin unfolded one -of the blankets he was bringing and wrapped it round her, carefully -covering up the little sleepers. Her companions had not been idle. To -the Maori the resources of the bush are all but inexhaustible. They -were making a bed of freshly-gathered fern, and twisting a perfect cable -from the fibrous flax-leaves. This they tied from tree to tree, and -flung another blanket across it, making a tent over the unfortunate -mother. Then they crept behind her, under the blanket, keeping their -impromptu tent in shape with their own backs. - -"Goo'-night," they whispered, "goo' boy. Go bush a' right." - -But Edwin lingered another moment to tell the disconsolate mother how he -had left Whero sleeping by the horse. - -"Wake up--no find us--then he go school," she said, wrinkling the patch -of tattoo on her lip and chin with the ghost of a smile. - - - - - *CHAPTER III.* - - *A RIDE THROUGH THE BUSH.* - - -The fire by the white pines had died away, but a cloud of smoke rose -from the midst of the trees and obscured the view. A faint rumbling -sound and the dull thud of horses' feet reached Edwin from time to time -as he ran back to the ford. - -A lantern was swinging in the acacia tree. The white gate was flung -open, and Dunter, with his hand to his ear, stood listening to the -far-off echo. - -A splash of oars among the rushes, and the shock of a boat against the -stairs, recalled him to the house. Edwin ran joyfully down the steps, -and gave a hand to Mr. Bowen. - -"We are not all here now," the old gentleman said. "Your father stuck -by the coach, and he would have his daughters with him, afraid of an -open boat on a night like this." - -Then Edwin felt a hand in the dark, which he knew was Cuthbert's; and -heard Mr. Hirpington's cheery voice exclaiming, "Which is home -first--boat or coach?" - -"Hard to say," answered Dunter, as the coach drove down the road at a -rapid pace, followed by a party of roadmen with pickaxe on shoulder, -coming on with hasty strides and a resolute air about them, very unusual -in men returning from a hard day's labour. - -The coach drew up, and Mr. Lee was the first to alight. He looked -sharply round, evidently counting heads. - -"All here, all right," answered Mr. Hirpington. "Safe, safe at home, as -I hope you will all feel it," he added, in his heartiest tones. - -There was no exact reply. His men gathered round him, exclaiming, "We -heard the war-cry from the Rota Pah. There's mischief in the wind -to-night. So we turned our steps the other way and waited for the coach, -and all came on together." - -"It is a row among the Maoris themselves," put in Dunter, "as that lad -can tell you." - -The man looked sceptical. A new chum, as fresh arrivals from the mother -country are always termed, and a youngster to boot, what could he know? - -Mr. Hirpington stepped out from the midst of the group and laid his hand -on Mr. Lee's shoulder, who was bending down to ask Edwin what all this -meant, and drew him aside. - -"I trust, old friend," he said, "I have not blundered on your behalf, -but all the heavy luggage you sent on by packet arrived last week, and -I, not knowing how to take care of it, telegraphed to headquarters for -permission to put it in the old school-house until you could build your -own. I thought to do you a service; but if our dusky neighbours have -taken offence, that is the cause, I fear." - -Mr. Lee made a sign to his children to go in-doors. Edwin led his -sisters up the terrace-steps, and came back to his father. The coach -was drawn inside the gate, and the bar was replaced. The driver was -attending to his horses; but all the others were holding earnest council -under the acacia tree, where the lantern was still swinging. - -"But I do not understand about this old schoolhouse," Mr. Lee was -saying; "where is it?" - -"Over the river," answered several voices. "The government built it for -the Maoris before the last disturbance, when the Hau-Hau [pronounced -_How How_] tribe turned against us, and went back to their old -superstitions, and banded together to sell us no more land. It was then -the school was shut up, but the house was left; and now we are growing -friendly again," added Mr. Hirpington, "I thought all was right." - -"So it is," interposed Mr. Bowen, confidently. "My sheep-run comes up -very near to the King country, as they like to call their district, and -I want no better neighbours than the Maoris." - -Then Edwin spoke out. "Father, I can tell you something about it. Do -listen." - -They did listen, one and all, with troubled, anxious faces. "This -tana," they said, "may not disperse without doing more mischief. Carry -on their work of confiscation at the old school-house, perhaps." - -"No, no; no fear of that," argued Mr. Bowen and the coachman, who knew -the Maoris best. - -"I'll run no risk of losing all my ploughs and spades," persisted Mr. -Lee. "How far off is the place?" - -"Not five miles across country," returned his friend. "I have left it in -the care of a gang of rabbiters, who have set up their tents just -outside the garden wall--safe enough, as it seemed, when I left." - -"Lend me a horse and a guide," said Mr. Lee, "and I'll push on -to-night." - -The children, of course, were to be left at the ford; but Edwin wanted -to go with his father. Dunter and another man were getting ready to -accompany him. - -"Father," whispered Edwin, "there is the black horse; you can take him. -Come and have a look at him." - -He raised the heavy wooden latch of the stable-door, and glanced round -for Whero. There was the hole in the straw where he had been sleeping, -but the boy was gone. - -"He must have stolen out as we drove in," remarked the coachman, who was -filling the manger with corn for his horses. - -The man had far more sympathy with Nga-Hepe in his trouble than any of -the others. He leaned against the side of the manger, talking to Edwin -about him. When Mr. Lee looked in he stooped down to examine the horse, -feeling its legs, and the height of its shoulder. On such a congenial -subject the coachman could not help giving an opinion. Edwin heard, with -considerable satisfaction, that the horse was a beauty. - -"But I do not like this business at all, and if I had had any idea Mr. -Hirpington's messenger was a native, you should never have gone with -him, Edwin," Mr. Lee began, in a very decided tone. "However," he -added, "I'll buy this horse, I don't mind doing that; but as to taking -presents from the natives, it is out of the question. I will not begin -it." - -"But, father," put in Edwin, "there is nobody here to buy the horse of; -there is nobody to take the money." - -"I'll take the money for Nga-Hepe," said the coachman. "I will make -that all right. You saw how it was as we came along. The farmers and -the natives are on the watch for my coming, and they load me with all -sorts of commissions. You would laugh at the things these Maoris get me -to bring them from the towns I pass through. I don't mind the bother of -it, because they will take no end of trouble in return, and help me at -every pinch. I ought to carry Nga-Hepe ten pounds." - -Mr. Lee thought that cheap for so good a horse, and turned to the half -light at the open door to count out the money. - -"But I shall not take him away with me to-night. I will not be seen -riding a Maori's horse if Hirpington can lend me another," persisted Mr. -Lee. - -Then Mr. Bowen limped up to the stable-door, and Edwin slipped out, -looking for Whero behind the farm buildings and round by the back of the -house. But the Maori boy was nowhere to be seen. The coachman was -right after all. Mr. Hirpington went indoors and called to Edwin to -join him. He had the satisfaction of making the boy go over the ground -again. But there was nothing more to tell, and Edwin was dismissed to -his supper with an exhortation to be careful, like a good brother, not -to frighten his sisters. - -He crossed over and leaned against the back of Audrey's chair, simply -observing, "Father is going on to-night." - -"Well?" she returned eagerly. - -"It won't be either well or fountain here," he retorted, "but a boiling -geyser. I've seen one in the distance already." - -"Isn't he doing it nicely?" whispered Effie, nodding. "They told him to -turn a dark lantern on us. We heard--Audrey and I." - -"Oh yes," smiled her sister; "every word can be heard in these New -Zealand houses, and no one ever seems to remember that. I give you fair -warning." - -"It is a rare field for the little long-eared pitchers people are so -fond of talking about--present representatives, self and Cuthbert. We -of course must expect to fill our curiosity a drop at a time; but you -must have been snapped up in a crab-shell if you mean to keep Audrey in -the dark," retorted Effie. - -"Cuthbert! Cuthbert!" called Edwin, "here is a buzzing bee about to -sting me. Come and catch it, if you can." - -Cuthbert ran round and began to tickle his sister in spite of Audrey's -horrified "My dear!" - -The other men came in, and a look from Mr. Lee recalled the young ones -to order. But the grave faces, the low words so briefly interchanged -among them, the business-like air with which the supper was got through, -in the shortest possible time, kept Audrey in a flutter of alarm, which -she did her best to conceal. But Mr. Bowen detected the nervous tremor -in her hand as she passed his cup of coffee, and tried to reassure her -with the welcome intelligence that he had just discovered they were -going to be neighbours. What were five-and-twenty miles in the -colonies? - -"A very long way off," thought the despondent Audrey. - -At a sign from Mr. Lee, Mrs. Hirpington conducted the girls to one of -the tiny bedrooms which ran along the back of the house, where the -"coach habitually slept." As the door closed behind her motherly -good-night, Effie seized upon her sister, exclaiming,-- - -"What are we in for now?" - -"Sleep and silence," returned Audrey; "for we might as well disclose our -secret feelings in the market-place as within these iron walls." - -"I always thought you were cousin-german to the discreet princess; but -if you reduce us to dummies, you will make us into eaves-droppers as -well, and we used to think that was something baddish," retorted Effie. - -"You need not let it trouble your conscience to-night, for we cannot -help hearing as long as we are awake; therefore I vote for sleep," -replied her sister. - -But sleep was effectually banished, for every sound on the other side of -the thin sheet of corrugated iron which divided them from their -neighbours seemed increased by its resonance. - -They knew when Mr. Lee drove off. They knew that a party of men were -keeping watch all night by the kitchen fire. But when the wind rose, -and a cold, pelting rain swept across the river, and thundered on the -metal roof with a noise which could only be out-rivalled by the iron -hail of a bombardment, every other sound was drowned, and they did not -hear what the coachman was saying to Edwin as they parted for the night. -So it was possible even in that house of corrugated iron not always to -let the left hand know what the right was doing. Only a few words -passed between them. - -"You are a kind-hearted lad. Will you come across to the stables and -help me in the morning? I must be up before the dawn." - -There was an earnestness in the coachman's request which Edwin could not -refuse. - -With the first faint peep of gray, before the morning stars had faded, -the coachman was at Edwin's door. The boy answered the low-breathed -summons without waking his little brother, and the two were soon -standing on the terraced path outside the house in the fresh, clear, -bracing air of a New Zealand morning, to which a touch of frost had been -superadded. They saw it sparkling on the leaves of the stately -heliotropes, which shaded the path and waved their clustering flowers -above the coachman's head as they swayed in the rising breeze. He -opened the gate in the hedge of scarlet geraniums, which divided the -garden from the stable-yard, and went out with Edwin, carrying the sweet -perfume of the heliotropes with them. Even the horses were all asleep. - -"Yes, it is early," remarked Edwin's companion. "The coach does not -start until six. I have got old time by the forelock, and I've a mind -to go over to the Rota Pah, if you can show me the way." - -"I think I can find it," returned Edwin, with a confidence that was yet -on the lee side of certainty. - -"Ay, then we'll take the black horse. If we give him the rein, he will -lead us to his old master's door. It is easy work getting lost in the -bush, but I never yet turned my back on a chum in trouble. Once a chum -always a chum with us. Many's the time Nga-Hepe's stood my friend among -these wild hills, and I want to see him after last night's rough -handling. That is levelling down with a vengeance." - -The coachman paused, well aware his companions would blame him for -interfering in such a business, and very probably his employers also, if -it ever reached their ears. So he led the horse out quietly, and -saddled him on the road. The ground was white with frost. The moon and -stars were gradually paling and fading slowly out of sight. The forest -was still enwrapped in stately gloom, but the distant hills were already -catching the first faint tinge of rosy light. - -Edwin got up behind the coachman, as he had behind Nga-Hepe. They gave -the horse its head, and rode briskly on, trusting to its sagacity to -guide them safely across the bush with all its dangers--dangers such as -Edwin never even imagined. But the coachman knew that one unwary step -might mean death to all three. For the great white leaves of the deadly -puka-puka shone here and there, conspicuous in the general blue-green -hue of the varying foliage; a poison quickly fatal to the horse, but a -poison which he loves. The difficulty of getting out of the thicket, -where it was growing so freely, without suffering the horse to crop a -single leaf kept them from talking. - -"If I had known that beastly white-leaved thing was growing here, I -would not have dared to have brought him, unless I had tied up his head -in a net," grumbled the coachman, making another desperate effort to -leave the puka-puka behind by changing his course. They struggled out -of the thicket, only to get themselves tied up in a detestable -supple-jack--a creeper possessing the power to cling which we faintly -perceive in scratch-grass, but in the supple-jack this power is -intensified and multiplied until it ties together everything which comes -within its reach, making it the traveller's plague and another terrible -foe to a horse, a riderless horse especially, who soon gets so tied up -and fettered that he cannot extricate himself, and dies. By mutual help -they broke away from the supple-jack, and stumbled upon a mud-hole. But -here the good horse started back of his own accord, and saved them all -from a morning header in its awful depths. For the mud was seething, -hissing, boiling like some witch's caldron--a horrid, bluish mud, -leaving a yellow crust round the edge of the hole, and sending up a -sulphurous smell, which set Edwin coughing. The coachman alighted, and -led the horse cautiously away. Then he turned back to break off a piece -of the yellow crust and examine it. - -Edwin remembered his last night's ride with the Maori, how he shot -fearlessly forward, avoiding all these insidious dangers as if by -instinct, "So that I did not even know they existed," exclaimed the boy, -with renewed admiration for the fallen chief. - - "'The rank puts on the guinea stamp, - But the man's the gold for a' that,'" - -he cried, with growing enthusiasm. - -"Gold or stamp," retorted the coachman; "well, I can't lay claim to -either. I'm a blockhead, and yet not altogether one of nature's making, -for I could have done better. When I was your age, lad, who would have -thought of seeing me, Dilworth Ottley, driving a four-in-hand over such -a breakneck path as we crossed yesterday? Yet I've done it, until I -thought all sense of danger was deadened and gone. But that horrid hole -brings back the shudder." - -"What is it?" asked Edwin. - -"One of the many vents through which the volcanic matter escapes. In my -Cantab days--you stare; but I was a Cantab, and got ploughed, and -rusticated--I was crack whip among the freshmen. The horses lost me the -'exam;' and I went on losing, until it seemed that all was gone. Then I -picked up my whip once more; and here you find me driving the -cross-country mail for so much a week. But it makes a fellow feel when -he sees another down in his luck like this Maori, so that one cannot -turn away with an easy conscience when it is in one's power to help him, -or I'd go back this very moment." - -"No, don't," said Edwin earnestly; "we are almost there." - -The exceeding stillness of the dawn was broken by the wailing cry of the -women. The horse pricked up his ears, and cantered forward through the -basket willows and acacias which bordered the sleeping lake. Along its -margin in every little creek and curve canoes were moored, but from the -tiny bay-like indentation by the lonely whare the canoe had vanished. - -The sudden jets of steam uprising in the very midst of the Maori pah -looked weird and ghostlike in the gray of the dawn. Only one wild-cat -crept stealthily across their path. Far in the background rose the dim -outline of the sacred hills where the Maori chiefs lie buried. - -Edwin looked upward to their cloud-capped summits awestruck, as the wild -traditionary tales he had heard from Hepe's lips only last night rushed -back upon his recollection. - -There before him was the place of graves; but where was the still more -sacred Te Tara, the mysterious lake of beauty, with its terraced banks, -where fairy-like arcades of exquisite tracery rise tier above tier, -shading baths fed by a stream of liquid sun in which it is happiness to -bathe? - -Edwin had listened to the Maori's description as if it had been a page -from some fairy tale; but Ottley, in his matter-of-fact way, confirmed -it all. - -"This Maori's paradise," he said, "may well be called the -last-discovered wonder of the world. I bring a lot of fellows up here -to see it every year; that is what old Bowen is after now. 'A thing of -beauty is a joy for ever.' This magic geyser has built a bathing-house -of fair white coral and enamel lace, with basins of shell and fringes of -pearl. What is it like? there is nothing it is like but a Staffa, with -its stalactites in the daylight and the sunshine. If Nature forms the -baths, she fills them, too, with boiling water, which she cools to suit -every fancy as she pours it in pearly cascades from terrace to terrace, -except in a north-east wind, which dries them up. All these Maoris care -for is to spend their days like the ducks, swimming in these pools of -delight. It is a jealously-guarded treasure. But they are wide awake. -The pay of the sightseer fills their pockets without working, and they -all disdain work." - -They were talking so earnestly they did not perceive a patch of hot, -crumbling ground until the horse's fore feet went down to the fetlocks -as if it were a quicksand, shooting Ottley and Edwin over his head among -the reeds by the lake. Ottley picked himself up in no time, and flew to -extricate the horse, warning Edwin off. - -"Whatever you may say of the lake, there are a lot of ugly places -outside it," grumbled Edwin, provoked at being told to keep his distance -when he really felt alight with curiosity and wonder as to what strange -thing would happen next. Having got eyes, as he said, he was not -content to gape and stare; he wanted to investigate a bit. - -Once more the wail of the women was borne across the lake, rising to a -fearsome howl, and then it suddenly ceased. The two pressed forward, -and tying the horse to a tree, hastened to intercept the agonized wife -venturing homewards with the peep of light, only to discover how -thoroughly the tana had done its work. - -But the poor women fled shrieking into the bush once more when they -perceived the figure of a man advancing toward them. - -"A friend! a friend!" shouted Ottley, hoping that the sound of an -Englishman's voice would reassure them. - -There was a crashing in the bushes, and something leaped out of the wild -tangle. - -"It is Whero!" exclaimed Edwin, running to meet him. They grasped hands -in a very hearty fashion, as Edwin whispered almost breathlessly, "How -have they left your father?" - -"You have come to tangi with us!" cried Whero, in gratified surprise; -and to show his warm appreciation of the unexpected sympathy, he gravely -rubbed his nose against Edwin's. - -"Oh, don't," interposed the English boy, feeling strangely foolish. - -Ottley laughed, as he saw him wipe his face with considerable energy to -recover from his embarrassment. - -"Oh, bother!" he exclaimed. "I shall be up to it soon, but I did not -know what you meant by it. Never mind." - -"Let us have a look round," said the coachman, turning to Whero, "before -your mother gets here." - -"I have been watching in the long grass all night," sobbed the boy; "and -when the tramp of the last footsteps died away, I crept out and groped -my way in the darkness. I got to the door, and called to my father, but -there was no answer. Then I turned again to the bush to find my mother, -until I heard our own horse neigh, and I thought he had followed me." - -Ottley soothed the poor boy as best he could as they surveyed the scene -of desolation. The fences were all pulled up and flung into the lake, -and the gates thrown down. The garden had been thoroughly ploughed, and -every shrub and tree uprooted. The patch of cultivated ground at the -back of the whare had shared the same fate. - -It was so late in the autumn Ottley hoped the harvest had been gathered -in. It mattered little. The empty storehouse echoed to their -footsteps. All, all was gone. They could not tell whether the great -drove of pigs had been scared away into the bush or driven off to the -pah. Whero was leading the way to the door of the principal whare, -where he had last seen his father. In the path lay a huge, flat stone -smashed to pieces. The hard, cold, sullen manner which Whero had -assumed gave way at the sight, and he sobbed aloud. - -Edwin was close behind them; he took up a splinter from the stone and -threw it into the circle of bubbling mud from which it had been hurled. -Down it went with a splash--down, down; but he never heard it reach the -bottom. - -"Did that make anything rise?" asked Ottley anxiously, as he looked into -the awful hole with a shudder. - -"They could not fill this up," retorted Whero exultantly. "Throw in -what you will, it swallows it all." - -To him the hot stone made by covering the dangerous jet was the -embodiment of all home comfort. It was sacred in his eyes--a fire which -had been lighted for the race of Hepe by the powers of heaven and earth; -a fire which nothing could extinguish. He pitied the Ingarangi boy by -his side, who had never known so priceless a possession. - -"Watch it," said Ottley earnestly. "If anything has been thrown in, it -will rise to the surface after a while incrusted with sulphur; but -now--" He pushed before the boys and entered the whare. - -There lay Nga-Hepe, a senseless heap, covered with blood and bruises. A -stream of light from the open door fell full on the prostrate warrior. -The rest of the whare was in shadow. - -Whero sprang forward, and kneeling down beside his father, patted him -fondly on his cheek and arm, as he renewed his sobbing. - -After the tana had feasted to their heart's content. after they had -carried off everything movable, Nga-Hepe had been called upon to defend -himself against their clubs. Careful to regulate their ruthless -proceedings by ancient custom, his assailants came upon him one at a -time, until his powerful arm had measured its strength with more than -half the invading band. At last he fell, exhausted and bereft of -everything but the greenstone club his unconscious hand was grasping -still. - -"He is not dead," said Ottley, leaning over him; "his chest is heaving." - -An exclamation of thankfulness burst from Edwin's lips. - -Ottley was looking about in vain for something to hold a little water, -for he knew that the day was breaking, and his time was nearly gone. -All that he could do must be done quickly. He was leaving the whare to -pursue his quest without, when he perceived the unfortunate women -stealing through the shadows. He beckoned the gray-haired Maori, who had -waited on Marileha from her birth, to join him. A few brief words and -many significant gestures were exchanged before old Ronga comprehended -that the life yet lingered in the fallen chief. She caught her mistress -by the arm and whispered in her native tongue. - -The death-wail died away. Marileha gazed into the much-loved face in -breathless silence. A murmur of joy broke from her quivering lips, and -she looked to Whero. - -He went out noiselessly, and Edwin followed. A hissing column of steam -was still rising unchecked from a rough cleft in the ground, rendered -bare and barren by the scalding spray with which it was continually -watered. Old Ronga was already at work, making a little gutter in the -soft mud with her hands, to carry the refreshing stream to the bed of a -dried-up pond. Edwin watched it slowly filling as she dug on in -silence. - -"The bath is ready," she exclaimed at last. The word was passed on to -her companions, who had laid down the sleepy children they had just -brought home in a corner of the great whare, still huddled together in -Mrs. Hirpington's blanket. With Ottley's assistance they carried out -the all but lifeless body of Nga-Hepe, and laid him gently in the -refreshing pool, with all a Maori's faith in its restorative powers. - -Marileha knelt upon the brink, and washed the blood-stains from his -face. The large dark eyes opened, and gazed dreamily into her own. Her -heart revived. What to her were loss and danger if her warrior's life -was spared? She glanced at Ottley and said, "Whilst the healing spring -still flows by his father's door there is no despair for me. Here he -will bathe for hours, and strength and manhood will come back. Whilst -he lies here helpless he is safe. Could he rise up it would only be to -fight again. Go, good friend, and leave me. It would set the jealous -fury of his tribe on fire if they found you here. Take away my Whero. -My loneliness will be my defence. What Maori would hurt a weeping woman -with her hungry babes? There are kind hearts in the pah; they will not -leave me to starve." - -She held out her wet hand as she spoke. Ottley saw she was afraid to -receive the help he was so anxious to give. Whilst they were speaking, -Edwin went to find Whero. - -He had heard the black horse neigh, and was looking round for his -favourite. "They will seize him!" he muttered between his set teeth. -"Why will you bring him here?" - -"Come along with us," answered Edwin quickly, "and we will go back as -fast as we can." - -But the friendly ruse did not succeed. - -"I'll guide you to the road, but not a step beyond it. Shall men say I -fled in terror from the sound of clubs--a son of Hepe?" exclaimed Whero. -"Should I listen to the women's fears?" - -"All very fine," retorted Edwin. "If I had a mother, Whero, I'd listen -to what she said, and I'd do as she asked me, if all the world laughed. -They might call me a coward and a jackass as often as they liked, what -would I care? Shouldn't I know in my heart I had done right?" - -"Have not you a mother?" said Whero. - -Edwin's "No" was scarcely audible, but it touched the Maori boy. He -buried his face on the horse's shoulder, then suddenly lifting it up -with a defiant toss, he asked, "Would you be faithless and desert her if -she prayed you to do it?" - -This was a home-thrust; but Edwin was not to be driven from his -position. - -"Well," he retorted, "even then I should say to myself, 'Perhaps she -knows best.'" - -He had made an impression, and he had the good sense not to prolong the -argument. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV.* - - *THE NEW HOME.* - - -The sun had risen when Edwin and the coach man started on their way to -the ford. With Whero running by the horse's head for a guide, the -dangers of the bush were avoided, and they rode back faster than they -came. The gloom had vanished from the forest. The distant hills were -painted with violet, pink, and gold. Sunbeams danced on scarlet -creepers and bright-hued berries, and sparkled in a thousand frosted -spiders' webs nestling in the forks of the trees. Whero led them to the -road, and there they parted. "If food runs low," he said, "I shall go -to school. With all our winter stores carried away it must; I know it." - -"Don't try starving before schooling," said Ottley, cheerily. "Watch -for me as I come back with the coach, and I'll take you down to -Cambridge and on to the nearest government school.--Not the Cambridge -you and I were talking of, Edwin, but a little township in the bush -which borrows the grand old name.--You will love it for a while, Whero; -you tried it once." - -"And I'll try it again," he answered, with a smile. "There is a lot more -that I want to know about--why the water boils through the earth here -and not everywhere. We love our mud-hole and our boiling spring, and -you are afraid of them." - -"They are such awful places," said Edwin, as Whero turned back among the -trees and left them, not altogether envious of a Maori's patrimony. "It -is such a step from fairy-land to Sodom and Gomorrah," persisted Edwin, -reverting to Nga-Hepe's legends. - -"Don't talk," interrupted Ottley. "There is an awful place among these -hills which goes by that name, filled with sulphurous smoke and hissing -mud. The men who made that greenstone club would have finished last -night's work by hurling Nga-Hepe into its chasms. Thank God, that day -is done. We have overcome the cannibal among them; and as we draw their -young lads down to our schools, it will never revive." They rode on, -talking, to the gate of the ford-house. - -"I shall be late getting off," exclaimed Ottley, as he saw the household -was astir. He gave the bridle to Edwin and leaped down. The boy was in -no hurry to follow. He lingered outside, just to try if he could sit -his powerful steed and manage him single-handed. When he rode through -the gate at last, Ottley was coming out of the stable as intent upon his -own affairs as if nothing had occurred. - -Breakfast was half-way through. The passengers were growing impatient. -One or two strangers had been added to their number. The starting of -the coach was the grand event of the day. Mrs. Hirpington was -engrossed, and Edwin's entrance passed unquestioned. His appetite was -sharpened by his morning ride across the bush, and he was working away -with knife and fork when the coach began to fill. - -"If ever you find your way to Bowen's Run, you will not be forgotten," -said the genial colonist, as he shook hands with the young Lees and -wished them all success in their new home. - -The boys ran out to help him to his seat, and see the old ford-horse -pilot the coach across the river. - -Ottley laid his hand on Edwin's shoulder for a parting word. - -"Tell your father poor Marileha--I mean Whero's mother--dare not keep -the money for the horse; but I shall leave all sorts of things for her -at the roadman's hut, which she can fetch away unnoticed at her own -time. When you are settled in your new home, you must not forget I'm -general letter-box." - -"We are safe to use you," laughed Edwin; and so they parted. - -The boys climbed up on the garden-gate to watch the crossing. The -clever old pilot-horse, which Mr. Hirpington was bound by his lease to -keep, was yoked in front of the team. Good roadsters as the -coach-horses were, they could not manage the river without him. Their -feet were sure to slip, and one and all might be thrown down by the -force of the current. But this steady old fellow, who spent his life -crossing and recrossing the river, loved his work. It was a sight no -admirer of horses could ever forget to see him stepping down into the -river, taking such care of his load, cautiously advancing a few paces, -and stopping to throw himself back on his haunches and try the bottom of -the river with one of his fore feet. If he found a boulder had been -washed down in the night too big for him to step over, he swept the -coach round it as easily and readily as if it were a matter of course, -instead of a most unexpected obstruction. The boys were in ecstasies. -Then the sudden energy he put forth to drag the coach up the steep bank -on the opposite side was truly marvellous. When he considered his work -was done, he stood stock-still, and no power on earth could make him -stir another step. As soon as he was released, splash he went back into -the water, and trotted through it as merrily as a four-year-old. - -"Cuthbert," said Edwin, in a confidential whisper, "we've got just such -another of our own. Come along and have a look at him." - -Away went the boys to the stable, where Mr. Hirpington found them two -hours after making friends with "Beauty," as they told him. - -At that hour in the morning every one at the ford was hard at work, and -they were glad to leave the boys to their own devices. Audrey and Effie -occupied themselves in assisting Mrs. Hirpington. When they all met -together at the one-o'clock dinner, Edwin was quite ready to indemnify -his sisters for his last night's silence, and launched into glowing -descriptions of his peep into wonderland. - -"Shut up," said Mr. Hirpington, who saw the terror gathering in Effie's -eyes. "You'll be persuading these young ladies we are next-door -neighbours to another Vesuvius.--Don't believe him, my dears. These -mud-jets and geysers that he is talking about are nature's -safety-valves. I do not deny we are living in a volcanic region. We -feel the earth tremble every now and then, setting all the dishes -rattling, and tumbling down our books; but it is nothing more than the -tempests in other places." - -"I'm thinking more of the Maoris than of their mud," put in Effie, -shyly; while Audrey quietly observed, everything was strange at present, -but they should get used to it by-and-by. - -"The Maoris have been living among nature's water-works for hundreds of -years, and they would not change homes with anybody in the world; -neither would we. Mr. Bowen almost thinks New Zealand beats old England -hollow," laughed Mr. Hirpington. "If that is going a little too far, she -is the gem of the Southern Ocean. But seriously now," he added, -"although the pumice-stone we can pick up any day tells us how this -island was made, there has been no volcanic disturbance worth the name -of an eruption since we English set foot on the island. The Maoris were -here some hundreds of years before us, and their traditions have been -handed down from father to son, but they never heard of anything of the -kind." - -Mr. Hirpington spoke confidently, and all New Zealand would have agreed -with him. - -Edwin thought of Whero. "There are a great many things I want to -understand," he said, thoughtfully. - -"Wife," laughed Mr. Hirpington, "is not there a book of Paulett -Scroope's somewhere about? He is our big gun on these matters." - -As Mrs. Hirpington rose to find the book, she tried to divert Effie's -attention by admitting her numerous family of cats: seven energetic -mousers, with a goodly following of impudent kittens--tabby, -tortoise-shell, and black. When Effie understood she was to choose a -pet from among them, mud and Maoris seemed banished by their round green -eyes and whisking tails. The very title of Edwin's book proved -consolatory to Audrey--"Geology and Extinct Volcanoes in Central -France." A book in the bush is a book indeed, and Edwin held his -treasure with a loving clasp. He knew it was a parting gift; and -looking through the river-window, he saw Dunter and his companion -returning in a big lumbering cart. They drew up on the opposite bank of -the river and waved their hats. - -"They have come to fetch us," cried Audrey. Mrs. Hirpington would hardly -believe it. "I meant to have kept you with me for some days at least," -she said; but the very real regret was set aside to speed the parting of -her juvenile guests. - -According to New Zealand custom, Mr. Lee had been obliged to buy the -horse and cart which brought his luggage up country, so he had sent it -with Dunter to fetch his children. - -The men had half filled it with freshly-gathered fern; and Edwin was -delighted to see how easily his Beauty could swim the stream, to take -the place of Mr. Hirpington's horse. - -"He would make a good pilot," exclaimed the man who was riding him. - -Mrs. Hirpington was almost affectionate in her leave-taking, lamenting -as she fastened Effie's cloak that she could not keep one of them with -her. But not one of the four would have been willing to be left behind. - -The boat was at the stairs; rugs and portmanteaus were already thrown -in. - -Mr. Hirpington had seized the oar. "I take you myself," he said; "that -was the bargain with your father." - -In a few minutes they had crossed the river, and were safely seated in -the midst of a heap of fern, and found it as pleasant as a ride in a -hay-cart. Mr. Hirpington sat on the side of the cart teaching Cuthbert -how to hold the reins. - -The road which they had taken was a mere cart-track, which the men had -improved as they came; for they had been obliged to use their hatchets -freely to get the cart along. Many a great branch which they had lopped -off was lying under the tree from which it had fallen, and served as a -way-mark. The trees through which they were driving were tall and dark, -but so overgrown with creepers and parasites it was often difficult to -tell what trees they were. A hundred and fifty feet above their heads -the red blossoms of the rata were streaming like banners, and wreathing -themselves into gigantic nests. Beneath were an infinite variety of -shrubs, with large, glossy leaves, like magnolias or laurels; sweetly -fragrant aromatic bushes, burying the fallen trunk of some old tree, -shrouded in velvet moss and mouse-ear. Little green and yellow birds -were hopping from spray to spray through the rich harvest of berries the -bushes afforded. - -The drive was in itself a pleasure. A breath of summer still lingered -in the glinting sunlight, as if it longed to stay the falling leaves. -The trees were parted by a wandering brook overgrown with brilliant -scarlet duckweed. An enormous willow hanging over its pretty bank, with -a peep between its drooping branches of a grassy slope just dotted with -the ever-present ti tree told them they had reached their journey's end. -They saw the rush-thatched roof and somewhat dilapidated veranda of the -disused schoolhouse. Before it stretched a lovely valley, where the -brook became a foaming rivulet. A little group of tents and a long line -of silvery-looking streamers marked the camp of the rabbiters. - -But the children's eyes were fastened on the moss-grown thatch. Soon -they could distinguish the broken-down paling and the recently-mended -gate, at which Mr. Lee was hammering. A shout, in which three voices at -least united, made him look round. Down went bill and hammer as he ran -to meet them, answering with his cheeriest "All right!" the welcome cry -of, "Father, father, here we are!" - -Mr. Hirpington sprang out and lifted Audrey to the ground. Mr. Lee had -Effie in his arms already. The boys, disdaining assistance, climbed over -the back of the cart, laughing merrily. The garden had long since gone -back to wilderness, but the fruit still hung on the unpruned -trees--apples and peaches dwindling for want of the gardener's care, but -oh, so nice in boyish eyes! Cuthbert had shied a stone amongst the -over-ripe peaches before his father had answered his friend's inquiries. - -No, not the shadow of a disturbance had reached his happy valley, so Mr. -Lee asserted, looking round the sweet, secluded nook with unbounded -satisfaction. - -"You could not have chosen better for me," he went on, and Edwin's -beaming face echoed his father's content. - -Mr. Hirpington was pulling out from beneath the fern-leaves a store of -good things of which his friend knew nothing---wild pig and hare, butter -and eggs, nice new-made bread; just a transfer from the larder at the -ford to please the children. - -Age had given to the school-house a touch of the picturesque. Its -log-built walls were embowered in creepers, and the sweet-brier, which -had formerly edged the worn-out path, was now choking the doorway. -Although Mr. Lee's tenancy could be counted by hours, he had not been -idle. A wood fire was blazing in the room once sacred to desk and form. -The windows looking to the garden behind the house had been all forced -open, and the sunny air they admitted so freely was fast dispelling the -damp and mould which attach to shut-up houses in all parts of the world. - -One end of the room was piled with heterogeneous bales and packages, but -around the fire-place a sense of comfort began to show itself already. -A camp-table had been unpacked and screwed together, and seats, after a -fashion, were provided for all the party. The colonist's "billy," the -all-useful iron pot for camp fire or farmhouse kitchen, was singing -merrily, and even the family teapot had been brought back to daylight -from its chrysalis of straw and packing-case. There was a home-like -feeling in this quiet taking possession. - -"I thought it would be better than having your boys and girls shivering -under canvas until your house was built," remarked Mr. Hirpington, -rubbing his hands with the pleasant assurance of success. "You can rent -the old place as long as you like. It may be a bit shaky at the other -corner, but a good prop will make it all right." - -The two friends went out to examine, and the brothers and sisters drew -together. Effie was hugging her kitten; Cuthbert was thinking of the -fruit; but Beauty, who had been left grazing outside, was beforehand -with him. There he stood, with his fore feet on the broken-down paling, -gathering it for himself. It was fun to see him part the peach and throw -away the stone, and Cuthbert shouted with delight to Edwin. They were -not altogether pleased to find Mr. Hirpington regarded it as a very -ordinary accomplishment in a New Zealand horse. - -"We are in another hemisphere," exclaimed Edwin, "and everything about -us is so delightfully new." - -"Except these decaying beams," returned his father, coming round to -examine the state of the roof above the window at which Edwin and Effie -were standing after their survey of the bedrooms. - -Audrey, who had deferred her curiosity to prepare the family meal, was -glad to learn that, besides the room in which Mr. Lee had slept last -night, each end of the veranda had been enclosed, making two more tiny -ones. A bedstead was already put up in one, and such stores as had been -unpacked were shut in the other. - -When Audrey's call to tea brought back the explorers, and the little -party gathered around their own fireside, Edwin could but think of the -dismantled hearth by the Rota Pah, and as he heard his father's -energetic conversation with Mr. Hirpington, his indignation against the -merciless tana was ready to effervesce once more. - -"Now," Mr. Lee went on, "I cannot bring my mind to clear my land by -burning down the trees. You say it is the easiest way." - -"Don't begin to dispute with me over that," laughed his friend. "You -can light a fire, but how will you fell a tree single-handed?" - -The boys were listening with eager interest to their father's plans. To -swing the axe and load the faggot-cart would be jolly work indeed in -those lovely woods. - -Mr. Hirpington was to ride back on the horse he had lent to Mr. Lee on -the preceding evening. When he started, the brothers ran down the -valley to get a peep at the rabbiter's camp. Three or four men were -lying round their fire eating their supper. The line of silver -streamers fluttering in the wind proved to be an innumerable multitude -of rabbit-skins hanging up to dry. A party of sea-gulls, which had -followed the camp as the rabbiters moved on, were hovering about, crying -like cats, until they awakened the sleeping echoes. - -The men told Edwin they had been clearing the great sheep-runs between -his father's land and the sea-shore, and the birds had followed them all -those miles for the sake of the nightly feast they could pick up in -their track. - -"You can none of you do without us," they said. "We are always at work, -moving from place to place, or the little brown Bunny would lord it over -you all." - -The boys had hardly time to exchange a good-night with the rabbiters, -when the daylight suddenly faded, and night came down upon vale and bush -without the sweet interlude of twilight. They were groping their way -back to the house, when the fire-flies began their nightly dance, and -the flowering shrubs poured forth their perfume. The stars shone out in -all their southern splendour, and the boys became aware of a moving army -in the grass. Poor Bunny was mustering his myriads. - - - - - *CHAPTER V.* - - *POSTING A LETTER.* - - -Mr. Lee and his boys found so much to do in their new home, days sped -away like hours. The bright autumn weather which had welcomed them to -Wairoa (to give their habitation its Maori name) had changed suddenly -for rain--a long, deluging rain, lasting more than a week. - -The prop which Mr. Hirpington had recommended was necessarily left for -the return of fine weather. But within doors comfort was growing -rapidly. One end of the large room was screened off for a workshop, and -shelves and pegs multiplied in convenient corners. They were yet a good -way off from that happy condition of a place for everything, and -everything in its place. It was still picnic under a roof, as Audrey -said; but they were on the highroad to comfort and better things. When -darkness fell they gathered round the blazing wood-fire. Mr. Lee wrote -the first letters for England, while Edwin studied "Extinct Volcanoes." -Audrey added her quota to the packet preparing for Edwin's old friend, -"the perambulating letter-box," and Effie and Cuthbert played -interminable games of draughts, until Edwin shut up his book and evolved -from his own brains a new and enlarged edition of Maori folk-lore which -sent them "creepy" to bed. - -It seemed a contradiction of terms to say May-day was bringing winter; -but winter might come upon them in haste, and the letters must be posted -before the road to the ford was changed to a muddy rivulet. - -Mr. Lee, who had everything to do with his own hands, knew not how to -spare a day. He made up his mind at last to trust Edwin to ride over -with them. To be sure of seeing Ottley, Edwin must stay all night at -the ford, for after the coach came in it would be too late for him to -return through the bush alone. - -Edwin was overjoyed at the prospect, for Ottley would tell him all he -longed to know. Was Nga-Hepe still alive? Had Whero gone to school? -He might even propose another early morning walk across the bush to the -banks of the lake. - -Edwin was to ride the Maori Beauty, which had become the family name for -the chieftain's horse. Remembering his past experiences with the -white-leaved puka-puka, he coaxed Audrey to lend him a curtain she was -netting for the window of her own bedroom. She had not much faith in -Edwin's assurances that it would not hurt it a bit just to use it for -once for a veil or muzzle; but she was horrified into compliance by his -energetic assertion that her refusal might cost his Beauty's life. -Cuthbert, mounted on an upturned pail, so that he could reach the -horse's head, did good service in the difficult task of putting it on. -The veil was not at all to the Beauty's mind, and he did his best to get -rid of it. But the four corners were drawn through his collar at last, -and securely tied. - -With Mr. Lee's parting exhortation to mind what he was about and look -well to Beauty's steps, Edwin started. - -The road was changed to a black, oozy, slimy track. Here and there the -earth had been completely washed away, and horse and rider were -floundering in a boggy swamp. A little farther on a perfect landslip -from the hills above had obliterated every trace of road, and Edwin was -obliged to wind his way through the trees, trusting to his Beauty's -instinct to find it again. - -With the many wanderings from the right path time sped away. The lamp -was swinging in the acacia tree as he trotted up to the friendly gate of -the ford-house. - -"Coach in?" he shouted, as he caught sight of Dunter shovelling away the -mud from the entrance. - -"Not yet; but she's overdue," returned the man, anxiously. "Even Ottley -will never get his horses through much longer. We may lock our -stable-doors until the May frosts begin. It is a tempting of Providence -to start with wheels through such a swamp, and I told him so last week." - -"Then I am just in time," cried Edwin joyfully, walking his horse up to -the great flat stone in the middle of the yard and alighting. He -slipped his hand into his coat to satisfy himself the bulky letters in -his breast-pocket were all right, and then led his Beauty to the -horse-trough. He had half a mind not to go in-doors until he had had -his talk with Ottley. - -Dunter, who was looking forward to the brief holiday the stopping of the -coach secured him, leaned on his spade and prepared for a gossip. - -"Did Mr. Lee think of building a saw-mill?" Edwin's reply ended with the -counter-inquiry, "Had Mr. Hirpington got home?" - -Dunter shook his head. "Not he: we all hold on as long as the light -lasts. He is away with the men, laying down a bit of corduroy road over -an earthslip, just to keep a horse-track through the worst of the -winter." - -Whilst Edwin was being initiated into the mysteries of road-making in -the bush, the coach drove up. - -Horses and driver were alike covered with mud, and the coach itself -exhibited more than its usual quota of flax-leaf bandages--all -testifying to the roughness of the journey. - -"It is the last time you will see me this season," groaned Ottley, as he -got off the box. "I shall get no farther." He caught sight of Edwin, -and recognized his presence with a friendly nod. The passengers, -looking in as dilapidated and battered condition as the coach, were -slowly getting out, thankful to find themselves at a stopping-place. -Among them Edwin noticed a remarkable old man. - -His snowy hair spoke of extreme old age, and when he turned a tattooed -cheek towards the boy, Edwin's attention was riveted upon him at once. -Lean, lank, and active still, his every air and gesture was that of a -man accustomed to command. - -"Look at him well," whispered Dunter. "He is a true old tribal chief -from the other side of the mountains, if I know anything; one of the -invincibles, the gallant old warrior-chiefs that are dying out fast. You -will never see his like again. If you had heard them, as I have, vow to -stand true for ever and ever and ever, you would never forget it.--Am I -not right, coachee?" he added in a low aside to Ottley, as he took the -fore horse by the head. - -The lantern flickered across the wet ground. The weary passengers were -stamping their numbed feet, and shaking the heavy drops of moisture from -hat-brims and overcoats. Edwin pressed resolutely between, that he -might catch the murmur of Ottley's reply. - -"He got in at the last stopping-place, but I do not know him." - -There was such a look of Whero in the proud flash of the aged Maori's -eye, that Edwin felt a secret conviction, be he who he might, they must -be kith and kin. He held his letter aloft to attract the coachman's -attention, calling out at his loudest, "Here, Mr. Ottley, I have brought -a letter for you to post at last." - -"All right," answered the coachman, opening a capacious pocket to -receive it, in which a dozen others were already reposing. "Hand it -over, my boy; there is scarcely a letter reaches the post from this -district which does not go through my hands." - -"Did you post this?" asked the aged Maori, taking another from the folds -of his blanket. - -"I did more," said Ottley, as he glanced at the crumpled envelope, "for -I wrote it to Kakiki Mahane, the father of Nga-Hepe's wife, at her -request." - -"I am that father," returned the old chief. - -"And I," added Ottley, "was the eye-witness of her destitution, as that -letter tells you." - -They were almost alone now in the great wet yard. The other passengers -were hurrying in-doors, and Dunter was leading away the horses; but -Edwin lingered, regardless of the heavy drops falling from the acacia, -in his anxiety to hear more. - -"I have brought no following with me to the mountain-lake, for by your -letter famine is brooding in the whare of my child. Well, I know if the -men of the Kota Pah heard of my coming, they would spread the feast in -my honour. But how should I eat with the enemies of my child? I wait -for the rising of the stars to find her, that none may know I am near." - -"I'll go with you," offered Ottley. - -"You need not wait for the stars," interposed Edwin; "I'll carry the big -coach-lantern before you with pleasure. Do let me go with you," he -urged, appealing to Ottley. - -"How is this?" asked Kakiki. "Does the pakeha pity when the Maori -frowns? What has my son-in-law been about, to bring down upon himself -the vengeance of his tribe?" - -"Let your daughter answer that question," remarked Ottley discreetly. - -But Edwin put in warmly: "Nga-Hepe was too rich and too powerful, and -the chief grew jealous. It was a big shame; and if I had been Whero, I -should have been worse than he was." - -Whero's grandfather deigned no reply. He stalked up the well-worn steps -into Mrs. Hirpington's kitchen, and seating himself at the long table -called out for supper. Edwin just peeped in at the door, avoiding Mrs. -Hirpington's eye, for fear she should interfere to prevent him going -with the old Maori. - -"I shall see her when I come back," he thought, as he strolled on -towards the stable, keeping an anxious watch over the gate, afraid lest -the fordmaster should himself appear at the last moment and detain him. - -"You have brought Nga-Hepe's horse," said Ottley. as he entered the -nearest stall. "We must have him, for he knows the way. We have only -to give him his head, and he is safe to take the road to his master's -door." - -"If you have him you must have me," persisted Edwin, and the thing was -settled. He nestled down in the clean straw under Beauty's manger, and -waited, elate with the prospect of a night of adventure, and stoutly -resisted all Dunter's persuasions to go in to supper. - -Wondering at the shy fit which had seized the boy, Dunter brought him a -hunch of bread and cheese, and left the lantern swinging in the stable -from the hook in the ceiling, ere he went in with Ottley to share the -good feed always to be found in Mrs. Hirpington's kitchen, leaving Edwin -alone with the horses. He latched the stable-door, as the nights were -growing cold. The gates were not yet barred, for Mr. Hirpington and his -men were now expected every minute. - -Edwin's thoughts had gone back to the corduroy road, which Dunter had -told him was made of the trunks of trees laid close together, with a -layer of saplings on the top to fill up the interstices. He was making -it in miniature with some bits of rush and reed scattered about the -stables, when the latch was softly lifted, and Whero stood before him. -Not the Whero he had parted from by the white pines, but the lean -skeleton of a boy with big, staring eyes, and bony arms coming out from -the loose folds of the blanket he was wearing, like the arms of a -harlequin. Edwin sprang up to meet him, exclaiming, "Your grandfather is -here." But instead of replying, Whero was vigorously rubbing faces with -his good old Beauty. - -"Have you come to meet your grandfather?" asked Edwin. - -"No," answered the boy abruptly. "I've come to ask Ottley to take me to -school." His voice was hollow, and his teeth seemed to snap together at -the sight of the bread in Edwin's hand. - -"Whero, you are starving!" exclaimed Edwin, putting the remainder of his -supper into the dusky, skinny fingers smoothing Beauty's mane. - -"A man must learn to starve," retorted Whero. "The mother here will give -me food when I come of nights and talk to Ottley." - -"But your own mother, Whero, and Ronga, and the children, how do they -live?" Edwin held back from asking after Nga-Hepe, "for," he said, as he -looked at Whero, "he must be dead." - -"How do they live?" repeated Whero, with a laugh. "Is the door of the -whare ever shut against the hungry? They go to the pah daily, but I -will not go. I will not eat with the men who struck down my father in -his pride. I wander through the bush. Let him eat the food they bring -him--he knows not yet how it comes; but his eyes are opening to the -world again. When he sees me hunger-bitten, and my sister Rewi fat as -ever, he will want the reason why. I will not give it. His strength is -gone if he starves as I starve. How can it return? No; I will go to -school to-morrow before he asks me." - -Edwin's hand grasped Whero's with a warmth of sympathy that was only -held in check by the dread of another nasal caress, and he exclaimed, -"Come along, old fellow, and have a look at your grandfather too." - -There was something about the grand old Maori's face which made Edwin -feel that he both could and would extricate his unfortunate daughter -from her painful position. - -"It is a fix," Edwin went on; "but he has come to pull you through, I -feel sure." - -Still Whero held back. He did not believe it was his grandfather. _He_ -would not come without a following; and more than that, the proud boy -could not stoop to show himself to a stranger of his own race in such a -miserable guise. He coiled himself round in the straw and refused to -stir. - -"Now, Whero," Edwin remonstrated, "I call this really foolish; and if I -were you I would not, I could not do it, speak of my own mother as one -of the women. I like your mother. It rubs me up to hear you--" The -boy stopped short; the measured breathing of his companion struck on his -ear. Whero had already fallen fast asleep by Beauty's side. - -"Oh, bother!" thought Edwin. "Yet, poor fellow, I won't wake you up, -but I'll go and tell your grandfather you are here." - -He went out, shutting the door after him, and encountered Mr. Hirpington -coming in with his men. - -"Hollo, Edwin, my boy, what brings you here?" he exclaimed. - -"Please, sir, I came over with a packet of letters for Mr. Ottley to -post," was the quick answer, as Edwin walked on by his side, intent upon -delivering his father's messages. - -"All right," was the hearty response. "We'll see. Come, now I think of -it, we can send your father some excellent hams and bacon we bought of -the Maoris. Some of poor Hepe's stores, I expect." - -"That was a big shame," muttered Edwin, hotly, afraid to hurt poor -Whero's pride by explaining his forlorn state to any one but his -grandfather. - -He entered the well-remembered room with the fordmaster, looking eagerly -from side to side, as Mr. Hirpington pushed him into the first vacant -seat at the long table, where supper for the "coach" was going forward. -Edwin was watching for the old chief, who sat by Ottley, gravely -devouring heap after heap of whitebait, potatoes, and pumpkins with -which the "coach" took care to supply him. Mrs. Hirpington cast anxious -glances round the table, fearing that the other passengers would run -short, as the old Maori still asked for "more," repeating in a loud -voice, "More, more kai!" which Ottley interpreted "food." Dunter was -bringing forth the reserves from the larder--another cheese, the remains -of the mid-day pudding, and a huge dish of brawn, not yet cold enough to -be turned out of the mould, and therefore in a quaky state. The old -chief saw it tremble, and thinking it must be alive, watched it -curiously. - -"What strange animals you pakehas bring over the sea!" he exclaimed at -last, adding, as he sprang to his feet and drew the knife in his belt -with a savage gesture, "I'll kill it." - -The laughter every one was trying to suppress choked the explanation -that would have been given on all sides. With arm upraised, and a -contorted face that alone was enough to frighten Mrs. Hirpington out of -her wits, he plunged the knife into the unresisting brawn to its very -hilt, utterly amazed to find neither blood nor bones to resist it. -"Bah!" he exclaimed, in evident disgust. - -"Here, Edwin," gasped the shaking fordmaster, "give the old fellow a -spoon." - -Edwin snatched up one from the corner of the table, and careful not to -wound the aged Maori's pride, which might be as sensitive as his -grandson's, he explained to him as well as he could that brawn was -brawn, and very jolly stuff for a supper. - -"Example is better than precept at all times," laughed Mr. Hirpington. -"Show him what to do with the spoon." - -Edwin obeyed literally, putting it to his own lips and then offering it -to Kakiki. The whole room was convulsed with merriment. Ottley and Mr. -Hirpington knew this would not do, and exerted themselves to recover -self-control sufficiently to persuade the old man to taste and try the -Ingarangi kai. - -He drew the dish towards him with the utmost gravity, and having -pronounced the first mouthful "Good, good," he worked away at it until -the whole of its contents had disappeared. And all the while Whero was -starving in the stable. - -"I can't stand this any longer," thought Edwin. "I must get him -something to eat, I must;" and following Dunter into the larder, he -explained the state of the case. - -"Wants to go by the coach and cannot pay for supper and bed. I see," -returned Dunter. - -Edwin thought of the treasure by the white pines as he answered, "I am -afraid so." - -"That's hard," pursued the man good-naturedly; "but the missis never -grudges a mouthful of food to anybody. I'll see after him." - -"Let me take it to him," urged Edwin, receiving the unsatisfactory -reply, "Just wait a bit; I'll see," as Dunter was called off in another -direction; and with this he was obliged to be content. - -Ottley was so taken up with the aged chief--who was considerably annoyed -to find himself the laughing-stock of the other passengers--that Edwin -could not get a word with him. He tried Mr. Hirpington, who was now -talking politics with a Wellingtonian fresh from the capital. Edwin, in -his fever of impatience, thought the supper would never end. After a -while some of the passengers went off to bed, and others drew round the -fire and lit their pipes. - -Mrs. Hirpington, Kakiki, and the coachman alone remained at the table. -At last the dish of brawn was cleared, and the old Maori drew himself up -with a truly royal air. Taking out a well-filled purse, in which some -hundreds of English sovereigns were glittering, he began counting on his -fingers, "One ten, two ten--how muts?" (much). - -Ottley, who understood a Maori's simple mode of reckoning better than -any one present, was assisting Mrs. Hirpington to make her bill, and -began to speak to Kakiki about their departure. - -The fordmaster could see how tired the chief was becoming, and suddenly -remembered a Maori's contempt and dislike for the wretched institution -of chairs. He was determined to make the old man comfortable, and -fetching a bear-skin from the inner room, he spread it on the floor by -the fire, and invited Kakiki to take possession. Edwin ran to his help, -and secured the few minutes for talk he so much desired. Mr. Hirpington -listened and nodded. - -"You will have to stay here until the morning," he added, "every one of -you. Go off with Dunter and make the boy outside as comfortable as you -can. I should be out of my duty to let that old man cross the bush at -night, with so much money about him. Better fetch his grandson in here." - -Mrs. Hirpington laid her hand on Edwin's shoulder as he passed, and told -him, with her pleasant smile, his bed was always ready at the ford. - -Dunter pointed to a well-filled plate and a mug of tea, placed ready to -his hand on the larder shelf; and stretching over Edwin's head, he -unbolted the door to let him out. - -The Southern Cross shone brightly above the iron roof as Edwin stepped -into the yard to summon Whero. The murmur of the water as it lapped on -the boating-stairs broke the stillness without, and helped to guide him -to the stable-door. The lantern had burnt out. He groped his way in, -and giving Whero a hearty shake, charged him to come along. - -But the hand he grasped was withdrawn. - -"I can't," persisted Whero; "I'm too ashamed." He meant too shy to face -the "coach," and tell all he had endured in their presence. The idea -was hateful to him. - -Edwin placed the supper on the ground and ran back for Ottley. He found -the coachman explaining to Kakiki why Marileha had refused to accept the -money for the horse, and how he had kept it for her use. - -"Then take this," cried Kakiki, flinging the purse of gold towards him, -"and do the like." - -But Ottley's "No!" was dogged in its decision. - -"What for no?" asked Kakiki, angrily. - -"Who is his daughter?" whispered Mr. Hirpington to his wife. - -"You know her: she wears the shark's teeth, tied in her ears with a -black ribbon," Mrs. Hirpington answered, sleepily. - -Then he went to the rescue, and tried to persuade Kakiki to place his -money in the Auckland Bank for his daughter's benefit, pointing out as -clearly as he could the object of a bank, and how to use it. As the -intelligent old man began to comprehend him, he reiterated, "Good, good; -the pitfall is only dangerous when it is covered. My following are -marching after me up the hills. If I enter the Rota Pah with the state -of a chief, there will be fighting. Send back my men to their canoes. -Hide the wealth that remains to my child as you say, but let that -wahini" (meaning Mrs. Hirpington) "take what she will, and bid her send -kai by night to my daughter's whare, that there may be no starving. -This bank shall be visited by me, and then I go a poor old man to sleep -by my daughter's fire until her warrior's foot is firm upon the earth -once more. I'll wrap me in that thin sheet," he went on, seizing the -corner of the table-cloth, which was not yet removed. - -Mr. Hirpington let him have it without a word, and Ottley rejoiced to -find them so capable and so determined to extricate Marileha from her -peril. - -"Before this moon shall pass," said Kakiki, "I will take her away, with -her family, to her own people. Let your canoe be ready to answer my -signal." - -"Agreed," replied Mr. Hirpington; "I'll send my boat whenever you want -it." - -"For all that," thought Edwin, "will Nga-Hepe go away?" He longed to -fetch in Whero, that he might enter into his grandfather's plans; and -as, one after another, the passengers went off to bed, he made his way -to Mrs. Hirpington. Surely he could coax her to unbar the door once -more and let him out to the stables. - -"What, another Maori asleep in the straw!" she exclaimed. "They do take -liberties. Pray, my dear, don't bring him in here, or we shall be up -all night." - -Edwin turned away again in despair. - -Having possessed himself of the table-cloth, the old chief lay down on -the bear-skin and puffed away at the pipe Mr. Hirpington had offered -him, in silence revolving his schemes. - -He was most anxious to ascertain how his son-in-law had brought down -upon himself the vengeance of the tribe amongst which he lived. "I will -not break the peace of the hills," he said at length, "for he may have -erred. Row me up stream while the darkness lasts, that I may have -speech of my child." - -"Too late," said Mr. Hirpington; "wait for the daylight." - -"Are there not stars in heaven?" retorted Kakiki, rising to try the -door. - -"Am I a prisoner?" he demanded angrily, when he found it fastened. - -Mr. Hirpington felt he had been reckoning without his host when he -declared no one should leave his roof that night. But he was not the -man to persist in a mistake, so he threw it open. - -"I'll row him," said Dunter. - -Edwin ran out with them. Here was the chance he had been seeking. He -flew to the stable and roused up Whero. Grandfather and grandson met -and deliberately rubbed noses by the great flat stone which Edwin had -used as a horse-block. Whilst Dunter and Mr. Hirpington were getting -out the boat, they talked to each other in their native tongue. - -"It will be all right now, won't it?" asked Edwin, in a low aside to -Ottley, who stood in the doorway yawning. But Kakiki beckoned them to -the conference. - -"The sky is black with clouds above my daughter's head; her people have -deserted her--all but Ronga. Would they cut off the race of Hepe? Some -miscreant met the young lord in the bush, and tried to push him down a -mud-hole; but he sprang up a tree, and so escaped. Take him to school -as he wills. When I go down to the bank I shall see him there. It is -good that he should learn. The letter has saved my child." - - - - - *CHAPTER VI.* - - *MIDNIGHT ALARMS.* - - -After his return home, Edwin felt as if mud and rain had taken -possession of the outside world. The rivulet in the valley had become a -raging torrent. All the glamour of the woods was gone. The fern-covered -hills looked gaunt and brown. The clumps of flax and rush bent their -flattened heads low in the muddy swamp before the piercing night winds. -The old trees in the orchard were shattered, and their broken branches, -still cumbering the ground, looked drear and desolate. The overgrowth -of leaf and stalk presented a mass of decaying vegetation, dank and -sodden. - -One chill May morning brought a heavy snow, veiling the calm crests of -the majestic hills with dazzling whiteness, becoming more intense and -vivid as their drapery of mist and storm-cloud blackened. All movement -seemed absorbed by the foaming cascades, tearing down the rifts and -gullies in the valley slope. Every sign of life was restricted to a -ghostly-looking gull, sated with dead rabbit, winging its heavy flight -to the blue-black background of dripping rock. - -But in this England of the Southern Seas the winter changes as it -changes in the British Isles. Sharp, frosty nights succeeded. The -ground grew crisp to the tread. The joyous work in the woods began. -Mr. Lee went daily to his allotment with axe on shoulder and his boys by -his side. His skill in woodcraft was telling. Many of the smaller -trees had already fallen beneath his vigorous stroke, when the -rabbiters--who glean their richest harvest in the winter -nights--reappeared. They were so used to the reckless ways of the -ordinary colonist--who cuts and slashes and burns right hand and left -until the coast is clear--that Mr. Lee's methodical proceedings began to -interest them. His first step was to clear away the useless undergrowth -and half-grown trees, gaining room for charcoal fires, and for stacks of -bark which his boys were stripping from the fallen trunks. His roving -neighbours promised to leave their traps and snares, and help him to -bring down the forest giants which he was marking for destruction. - -One June evening, as the Lees were returning from a hard day's work, -they passed the rabbiters going out as usual to begin their own. A -slight tremor in the ground attracted the attention of both parties. As -they exchanged their customary good-night, one of the rabbiters observed -there was an ugly look about the sky. - -The boys grumbled to each other that there was an ugly look about the -ground. Although thousands of little brown heads and flopping ears were -bobbing about among the withered thistle-stalks, thousands more were -lying dead behind every loose stone or weedy tuft. - -The ghoul-like gulls were hovering in increasing numbers, some already -pouncing on their prey and crying to their fellows wheeling inland from -the distant shore. No other sound disturbed the silence of the bush. -The sense of profound repose deepened as they reached their home. To -Mr. Lee it seemed an ominous stillness, like the lull before the storm; -but in the cheerful light of his blazing fire he shook off the feeling. - -The weary boys soon went to bed. For the present they were sleeping in -the same room as their father, who slowly followed their example. - -It was nearly midnight, when Edwin was awakened with a dim feeling of -something the matter. Cuthbert was pulling him. "Edwin! Edwin!" - -"What is it?" he cried. Edwin's hurried exclamation was lost in the -bang and rattle all around. Were the windows coming in? He sprang -upright as the bed was violently shaken, and the brothers were tossed -upon each other. - -"What now?" called out Mr. Lee, as the floor swayed and creaked, and he -felt himself rolling over in the very moment of waking. The walls were -beginning a general waltz, when the noise of falling crockery in the -outer room and the howling of the rabbiters' dogs drowned every other -sound. - -A sickly, helpless sensation stole over them all, Mr. Lee too, as -everything around them became as suddenly still--an eerie feeling which -could not be shaken off. The boys lay hushed in a state of nervous -tension, not exactly fear, but as if their senses were dumfoundered and -all their being centred in a focus of expectation. - -Effie gave a suppressed scream. Mr. Lee was speaking to her through the -wall. "It is over, my dear--it is over; don't be frightened," he was -saying. - -"It--what it?" asked Cuthbert, drawing his head under the bed-clothes. - -"Our first taste of earthquake," returned his father; "and a pretty -sharp one, I fancy." - -At this announcement Cuthbert made a speedy remove to his father's bed, -and cuddled down in the blankets. Mr. Lee walked round the room and -looked out of the window. It was intensely dark; he could see nothing. - -"Oh my head!" they heard Audrey saying; "it aches so strangely." - -Mr. Lee repeated his consolatory assurance that it was over, and -returned to bed, giving way to the natural impulse to lie still which -the earthquake seemed to produce. The violence of the headache every -one was experiencing made them thankful to lie down once more; but rest -was out of the question. In a little while all began again; not a -violent shock, as at the first, but a continual quaking. - -Mr. Lee got up and dressed. He was afraid to light a lamp, for fear it -should be upset; so he persuaded his children to keep in bed, thinking -they would be rolled down in the darkness by the heaving of the floor. -He groped his way into the outer room, treading upon broken earthenware -at every step. This was making bad worse. He went back and lit a match. -It was just two o'clock. - -Audrey, who heard him moving about, got up also, and began to dress, -being troubled at the destruction of the plates and dishes. In ten -minutes they were startled by a fearful subterranean roar. Edwin could -lie still no longer. He sprang up, and was hurrying on his clothes, -when the house shook with redoubled violence. Down came shelves, up -danced chairs. The bang and crash, followed by a heavy thud just -overhead, made Edwin and his father start back to opposite sides of the -room as the roof gave way, and a ton weight of thatch descended on the -bed Edwin had just vacated. - -"The chimney!" exclaimed Mr. Lee. "The chimney is down!" - -The dancing walls seemed ready to follow. Cuthbert was grabbing at his -shoes. Mr. Lee ran to the door, thinking of his girls in the other -room. - -"Audrey! Effie!" he shouted, "are you hurt?" - -But the weight of the falling thatch kept the door from opening. He saw -the window was bulging outwards. He seized a stick standing in the -corner, and tried to wrench away the partition boarding between him and -his daughters. But the slight shake this gave to the building brought -down another fall of thatch, filling the room with dust. Edwin just -escaped a blow from a beam; but the darkness was terrific, and the -intense feeling of oppression increased the frantic desire to get out. - -"In another moment the whole place will be about our ears!" exclaimed -Mr. Lee, forcing the window outwards, and pushing the boys before him -into the open. He saw--no, he could not see, but rather felt the whole -building was tottering to its fall. "Let the horses loose!" he shouted -to Edwin, as he ran round to the front of the house to extricate the -girls. - -The boom as of distant cannon seemed to fill the air. - -"O Lord above, what is it?" ejaculated one of the rabbiters, who had -heard the chimney go down, and was hurrying to Mr. Lee's assistance. - -Again the heavy roll as of cannon seemed to reverberate along the -distant shore. - -"It is a man-of-war in distress off Manakau Head," cried a comrade. - -"That! man, that is but the echo; the noise is from the hills. There is -hot work among the Maoris, maybe. They are game enough for anything. -The cannon is there," averred old Hal, the leader of the gang. - -"Then it is that Nga-Hepe blowing up the Rota Pah by way of revenge," -exclaimed the first speaker. - -Edwin had opened the stable-door, and was running after his father. He -caught the name Nga-Hepe, and heard old Hal's reply,-- - -"He buy cannon indeed, when the muru took away his all not three months -since!" - -Edwin passed the speaker, and overtaking his father in the darkness, he -whispered, "The man may be right. Nga-Hepe's wife buried his money by -the roadside, by the twin pines, father. I saw her do it." - -"Ah!" answered Mr. Lee, as he sprang up the veranda steps and rapped on -Audrey's window. As she threw it open a gruff voice spoke to Edwin out -of the darkness. - -"So it was money Marileha buried?" - -But Edwin gave no reply. Mr. Lee was holding out his arms to Erne, who -had scrambled upon the window-sill, and stood there trembling, afraid to -take the leap he recommended. - -"Wrap her in a blanket, Audrey, and slide her down," said their father. - -Edwin was on the sill beside her in a moment. The blanket Audrey was -dragging forward was seized and flung around the little trembler, -enveloping head, arms, and feet. Mr. Lee caught the lower end, and -drawing it down, received his "bonnie birdie" in his fatherly arms. -Edwin leaped into the darkness within. - -"Quick, Audrey, quick, or the house will fall upon us," he urged. - -She was snatching at this and that, and tying up a bundle in haste. -Edwin pulled out another blanket from the tumbled bed-clothes, and flung -it on the window-sill. - -"No, no," said Audrey; "I'll jump." - -She tossed her bundle before her, and setting herself low on her feet, -she gave one hand to her father and the other to the gruff speaker who -had startled Edwin in the darkness. They swung her to the ground -between them just as the log-built walls began to roll. Edwin was -driven back among the ruins, crouching under the bulrush thatch, which -lay in heaps by the debris of beam and chimney, snug like a rabbit in -its burrow, whilst beam and prop were falling around him. He heard -Cuthbert calling desperately, "Look, look! father, father! the world's -on fire!" - -Edwin tugged furiously at the mass of dry and dusty rushes in which he -had become enveloped, working with hands and feet, groping his way to -space and air once more. The grand but terrific sight which met his -gaze struck him backwards, and he sank confounded on the heap, from -which he had scarcely extricated himself. - -The sacred Maori hills, which at sunset had reared their snowy crests in -majestic calm, were ablaze with fire. The intensity of the glare from -the huge pillar of flame, even at so great a distance, was more than -eyes could bear. With both hands extended before his face to veil the -too terrific light, Edwin lay entranced. That vision of a thousand feet -of ascending flame, losing itself in a dome of cloud blacker and denser -than the blackness of midnight, might well prelude the day of doom. -Unable to bear the sight or yet to shut it out, he watched in dumb -amazement. White meteor globes of star-like brilliancy shot from out the -pall of cloud in every direction, and shed a blue unearthly light on all -around. They came with the roar as of cannon, and the rocks were riven -by their fall. Huge fissures, opening in the mountain sides, emitted -streams of rolling fire. - -Edwin forgot his own peril and the peril of all around, lost in the -immensity of the sight. The cries and groans of the rabbiters recalled -him. Some had thrown themselves on their faces in a paroxysm of terror. -Old Hal had fallen on his knees, believing the end of the world had -come. - -Edwin heard his father's voice rising calm and clear above the gasping -ejaculations and snatches of half-forgotten prayer. - -"Would you court blindness? Shut your eyes to the awful sight. It is -an eruption of Mount Tarawera. Remember, Hal, we are in the hands of -One whom storm and fire obey." - -The play of the lightning around the mountain-head became so intense -that the glare from the huge column of volcanic fire could scarcely be -distinguished. The jagged, forked flashes shot downwards to the -shuddering forest, and tree after tree was struck to earth, and fire -sprang up in glade and thicket. - -"To the open!" shouted Mr. Lee, blindfolding Cuthbert with his -handkerchief, and shrouding Effie in the blanket, as he carried her -towards the recent clearing. - -Cuthbert grasped his father's coat with both hands, and stumbled on by -his side. A dull, red spot in the distance marked the place where the -charcoal fires were smouldering still, just as Mr. Lee had left them. - -He laid his burden down in the midst of the circling heaps, which shed a -warmth and offered something of a shelter from the rising blast. It was -the safest spot in which he could leave the two; and charging Cuthbert -to be a man and take care of his sister, he hurried away to look for -Edwin. - -With their backs against the sods which covered over the charring wood, -the children sat with their arms round each other's necks, huddled -together in the blanket, all sense of loneliness and fear of being left -by themselves absorbed in the awe of the night. - -Inspired by Mr. Lee's example, old Hal had rallied. He had caught -Beauty, and was putting him in the cart. Audrey, with her recovered -bundle on her arm, with the quiet self-possession which never seemed to -desert her, was bringing him the harness from the new-built shed, which -was still standing. - -The gruff rabbiter, who had been the first to come to Mr. Lee's -assistance, followed her for a fork to move the heaps of thatch which -hemmed Edwin in. He was crossing to the ruined house with it poised upon -his shoulder as Mr. Lee came up. He saw the lightning flash across the -steel, and dashed the fork from the man's insensate grasp. The fellow -staggered backwards and fell a senseless heap. Star-like rays were -shooting from each pointing tine as the fork touched the ground, and -lines of fire ran from them in every direction. Edwin saw it also, and -seizing a loosened tie-beam, he gave the great heap of thatch before him -a tremendous heave, and sent it over. The sodden mass of rush, heavy -with frozen snow, broke to pieces as it fell, and changed the running -fire to a dense cloud of smoke. - -A deep-voiced "Bravo, young un!" broke from the horror-stricken -rabbiters, who had gathered round their comrade. But Mr. Lee was before -them. He had loosened the man's collar and torn open his shirt. In the -play of the cold night air his chest gave a great heave. A sigh of -thankfulness ran round the group. The lightning he had so unthinkingly -drawn down upon himself had not struck a vital part. - -Audrey had dropped her bundle, and was filling her lap with the frozen -flags by the edge of the stream. - -They dragged him away from the smoke, and Audrey's icy gleanings were -heaped upon his burning head. A twitch of the nostrils was followed by -a deep groan. - -"He'll do," said Hal. "He's a coming round, thank God!" - -With a low-breathed Amen, Mr. Lee turned away, for the cloud of smoke -his boy had raised completely concealed him. The cheery "All right" -which answered his shout for his son put new life into the whole party. - -Audrey and her father ran quickly to the end of the house. The great -beam of the roof was cleared, and Edwin was cautiously making his way -across it on his hands and knees. - -"Stand back!" he cried, as he neared the end, and, with a flying leap -and hands outspread he cleared the broken wall, and alighted uninjured -on the ground. - -Mr. Lee caught hold of him, and Audrey grasped both hands. - -"I'm all right," he retorted; "don't you bother about me." - -A terrible convulsion shook the ground; the men flung themselves on -their faces. A splendid kauri tree one hundred and seventy feet high, -which shaded the entrance of the valley, was torn up by the roots, as an -awful blast swept down the forest glades with annihilating force. The -crash, the shock reverberating far and wide, brought with it such a -sense of paralyzing helplessness even Mr. Lee gave up all for lost. - -They lifted up their heads, and saw red-hot stones flying into the air -and rolling down the riven slopes. - -"O my little lambs!" groaned Mr. Lee, thinking of the two he had left by -the charcoal fires, "what am I doing lying here, and you by yourselves -in the open?" - -"Get 'em away," said Hal; "the cart is still there. Put 'em all in, and -gallop off towards the shore; it's our only safety." - -There was too much weight in the old man's words to disregard them. Mr. -Lee looked round for his other horse, which had rushed over him at a mad -bound when the last tree fell. He saw it now, its coat staring with the -fright, stealing back to its companion. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII.* - - *THE RAIN OF MUD.* - - -It was about four o'clock in the morning. A new thing happened--a -strange new thing, almost unparalleled in the world's history. The -eruption had been hitherto confined to the central peak of Tarawera, -known among the Maori tribes as Ruawahia; but now with a mighty -explosion the south-west peak burst open, and flames came belching -forth, with torrents of liquid fire. The force of the earthquake which -accompanied it cracked the bed of the fairy lake. The water rushed -through the hole upon the subterranean fires, and returned in columns of -steam, forcing upwards the immense accumulation of soft warm mud at the -bottom of the lake. The whole of this was blown into the air, and for -fifteen miles around the mountain fell like rain. The enormous amount -of steam thus generated could not find half vent enough through the -single hole by which the water had poured in, and blew off the crust of -the earth above it. - -Showers of rock, cinders, and dust succeeded the mud, lashing the lake -to fury--a fury which baffled all imagination. The roar of the falling -water through unseen depths beneath the lake, the screech of the -escaping steam, the hissing cannonade of stones, created a volley of -sound for which no one could account, whilst the mud fell thick and -fast, as the snow falls in a blizzard. - -The geysers, catching the subterranean rage, shot their scalding spray -above the trees. Mud-holes were boiling over and over, and new ones -opening in unexpected places. Every ditch was steaming, every hill was -reeling. For the space of sixty miles the earth quivered and shook, and -a horrid sulphurous smell uprose from the very ground; while around -Tarawera, mountain, lake, and forest were enveloped in one immense cloud -of steam, infolding a throbbing heart of flame, and ascending to the -almost incredible height of twenty-two thousand feet. Beneath its awful -shadow the country lay in darkness--a darkness made still more appalling -when the huge rock masses of fire clove their way upwards, to fall back -into the crater from which they had been hurled. - -As Mr. Lee caught his horse by the forelock, the first heavy drops of -mud hissed on the frozen ground. In another moment they came pelting -thick and fast, burning, blinding, burying everything in their path. The -horse broke loose from his master's hand, and tore away to the shelter -of the trees. The heavy cart lumbering at his heels alone kept Beauty -from following his mate. Hal caught his rein, Edwin seized his head, as -the thick cloud of ashes and mud grew denser and blacker, until Edwin -could scarcely see his hand before him. - -"Get in! get in!" gasped the old rabbiter. - -Edwin swung himself upon the horse's back, and rode postilion, holding -him in with all his might. - -"The sick man first," said Mr. Lee, almost choking with the suffocating -smell which rose from the earth. He lifted the poor fellow in his arms, -a comrade took him by the feet, and between them they got him into the -cart. Hal had resigned the reins to Edwin, and taken his place, ready -to pillow the unconscious head upon his knees. - -"The Lord have mercy on us!" he groaned. - -Mr. Lee groped round for Audrey. Her feet were blistering through her -thin boots, as she sank ankle-deep in the steaming slime, which came -pouring down without intermission. Her father caught her by the waist -and swung her into the back of the cart. Another of the rabbiters got up -on the front and took the reins from Edwin, who did not know the way. -The other two, with Mr. Lee, caught hold of the back of the cart and ran -until they came to their own camp. The tents lay flat; the howling dogs -had fled; but their horse, which they had tethered for the night, had -not yet broken loose. - -Here they drew up, sorely against Mr. Lee's desire, for he could no -longer distinguish the glimmer of his charcoal fires, and his heart was -aching for his children--his innocents, his babies, as he fondly called -them--in that moment of dread. As the rabbiters halted, he stooped to -measure the depth of mud on the ground, alarmed lest the children should -be suffocated in their sleep; for they might have fallen asleep, they -had been left so long. - -"Not they," persisted Edwin. "They are not such duffers as to lie down -in mud like this; and as for sleep in this unearthly storm--" he stopped -abruptly. - -"Hark!" exclaimed his father, bending closer to the ground. "Surely -that was a 'coo,' in the distance." - -Every ear was strained. Again it came, that recognized call for help no -colonist who reckons himself a man ever refuses to answer. - -Faint as was the echo which reached them, it quivered with a passionate -entreaty. - -"They are cooing from the ford," cried one. But another contradicted. -It was only when bending over the upturned roots of a fallen tree that -the feeble sound could be detected, amidst all the fearsome noises -raging in the upper air. - -The rabbiters felt about for their spades, and throwing out the mud from -the cavity, knelt low in the loosened earth. They could hear it now -more plainly. - -Mr. Lee pressed his ear to the freshly-disturbed mould, and listened -attentively. The cry was a cry of distress, and the voice was the voice -of his friend. - -The rabbiters looked at each other, aghast at the thought of returning -to the thick of the storm. It was bad enough to flee before it; but to -face the muddy rain which was beating them to the earth, to breathe in -the burning dust which came whirling through it, could any one do that -and reach the ford alive? Not one dare venture; yet they would not -leave the spot. - -At break of day they said, "We will go." They were glad of such shelter -as the upheaved roots afforded. It was a moment's respite from the -blistering, blinding rain. But whilst they argued thus, Mr. Lee was -striding onwards to the seven black heaps, in the midst of which he had -left his children. - -The fires had long gone out; the blackness of darkness was around him. -He called their names. He shouted. His voice was thick and hoarse from -the choking atmosphere. He stumbled against a hillock. He sank in the -drift of mud by its side. A faint, low sob seemed near him; something -warm eluded his touch. His arms sought it in the darkness, sweeping -before him into empty space. Two resolute small hands fought back his -own, and Cuthbert growled out fiercely, "Whoever you are, you shan't -touch my Effie. Get along!" - -"Not touch your Effie, my game chick!" retorted Mr. Lee, with the ghost -of a smile in spite of his despair. - -"Oh, it is father! it is father!" they exclaimed, springing into his -arms. "We thought you would never come back any more." - -He thought they would never stop kissing him, but he got them at last, -big children as they were, one under each arm, lifting, dragging, -carrying by turns, till he made his way to the cart. Then he discovered -why poor Effie hung so helplessly upon him. Both hands had tightly -clinched in the shock of the explosion, and her feet dragged uselessly -along the ground. - -"She turned as cold as ice," said Cuthbert, "and I've cuddled her ever -since. Then the mud came on us hot; wasn't that a queer thing?" - -They snugged poor Effie in the blanket, and Audrey took her on her lap. - -"I'm not afraid now," she whispered, "now we are all together. But I've -lost the kitten." - -"No," said Audrey; "I saw it after you were gone, scampering up a tree." - -Mr. Lee was leaning against the side of the cart, speaking to old Hal. - -They did not hear what he was saying, only the rabbiter's reply: "Trust -'em to me. I'll find some place of shelter right away, down by the sea. -Here, take my hand on it, and go. God helping, you may save 'em at the -ford. Maybe they are half buried alive. It is on my mind it will be a -dig-out when you get there. The nearer the mischief the worse it will -be. When our fellows see you have the pluck to venture, there'll be -some of 'em will follow, sure and sartin." - -"We are all chums here," said Mr. Lee, turning to the men. "Lend me -that spade and I'm off to the ford. We must answer that coo somehow, my -lads." - -"We'll do what we can in the daylight," they answered. - -"I am going to do what I can in the darkness," he returned, as he -shouldered the spade and crossed over for a last look at his children. - -Audrey laid her hand in his without speaking. - -"You are not going alone, father, when I'm here," urged Edwin, springing -off the horse. "Take me with you." - -"No, Edwin; your post is here, to guard the others in my -absence.--Remember, my darlings, we are all in God's hands, and there I -leave you," said Mr. Lee. - -He seized a broken branch, torn off by the wind, and using it as an -alpenstock, leaped from boulder to boulder across the stream, and was up -the other side of the valley without another word. - -Cuthbert was crying; the dogs were whining; Audrey bent over Effie and -rocked her backwards and forwards. - -The cart set off. The mud was up to the axle-tree. It was slow work -getting through it. - -The rest of the party were busy dragging their tents out of the mire, -and loading their own cart with their traps as fast as they could, -fumbling in the dark, knee-deep in slush and mud. - -As Beauty pulled his way through for an hour or more, the muddy rain -diminished, the earth grew hard and dry. The children breathed more -freely as the fresh sea-breeze encountered the clouds of burning dust, -which seemed now to predominate over the mud. - -They could hear the second cart rumbling behind them. The poor fellow -who had been struck by the lightning began to speak, entreating his -comrades to lay him somewhere quiet. "My head, my head!" he moaned. -"Stop this shaking." - -By-and-by they reached a hut. They were entering one of the great -sheep-runs, where the rabbiters had been recently at work. Here the -carts drew up, and roused its solitary inmate. One of the rabbiters -came round and told Hal they had best part company. - -"There are plenty of bold young fellows among Feltham's shepherds. We -are off to the great house to tell him, and we'll give the alarm as we -go. He'll send a party off to the hills as soon as ever he hears of -this awful business. A lot of us may force a way. We'll take this side -of the run: you go the other till you find somewhere safe to leave these -children. Wake up the shepherds in every hut you pass, and send them on -to meet us at Feltham's. If we are back by daylight we shall do," they -argued. - -"Agreed," said the old man. "We can't better that. Dilworth and the -traps had best wait here. He will sleep this off," he added, looking -compassionately at his stricken comrade. - -Out came the shepherd, a tall, gentlemanly young fellow, who had passed -his "little-go" at Trinity, got himself "ploughed" like Ottley, and so -went in for the southern hemisphere and the shepherd's crook. - -Pale and livid with the horror of the lone night-watch in his solitary -hermitage, he caught the full import of the direful tidings at a word. -His bed and his rations were alike at their service. He whistled up his -horse and dog, and rode off at a breakneck gallop, to volunteer for the -relief-party, and send the ill news a little faster to his master's -door, for his fresh horse soon outstripped the rabbiters' cart. -Meanwhile old Hal drove onward towards the sea. A shepherd met him and -joined company, breathless for his explanation of all the terrors which -had driven him from his bed. He blamed Mr. Lee for his foolhardiness in -venturing on alone into such danger. - -Freed at last from the clayey slime, Beauty rattled on apace. Cuthbert -was fast asleep, and Edwin was nodding, but Audrey was wide awake. She -gathered from the conversation of the men fresh food for fear. The "run" -they were crossing was a large one. She thought they called it -Feltham's. It extended for some miles along the sea-shore, and Audrey -felt sure they must have journeyed ten or fifteen miles at least since -they entered it. Thirteen thousand sheep on run needed no small company -of shepherds. Many of them lived at the great house with Mr. Feltham; -others were scattered here and there all over the wide domain, each in -his little shanty. Yet most of them were the sons of gentlemen, certain -to respond to the rabbiters' call. Again the cart drew up, and a -glimmer of firelight showed her the low thatched roof of another shanty. -Hal called loudly to a friend inside. - -"Up and help us, man! There is an awful eruption. Tarawera is pouring -out fire and smoke. Half the country round will be destroyed before the -morning!" - -Down sprang the shepherd. "We are off to Feltham's; but we must have -you with us, Hal, for a guide. We don't know where we are wanted." - -Edwin was wide awake in a moment. The men were talking eagerly. Then -they came round, lifted the girls out of the cart, told them all to go -inside the hut and get a sleep, and they would soon send somebody to see -after them. - -Hal laid his hand on Edwin's shoulder. "Remember your father's charge, -lad," he said, "and just keep here, so that I know where to find you." - -It was still so dark they could scarcely see each other's faces; but as -Edwin gave his promise, Audrey sighed a startled sigh of fear. Were -they going to leave them alone? - -"Must," returned all three of the men, with a decision that admitted of -no question. - -"Afraid?" asked the shepherd, in a tone which made Edwin retort, "Not a -bit." - -But Audrey could not echo her brother's words. She stood beside him the -picture of dismay, thinking of her father. Hal's friend Oscott picked -up a piece of wood and threw it on the dying lire; it blazed up -cheerily. - -"My dear," said Hal, in an expostulating tone, "would you have us leave -your father single-handed? We have brought you safe out of the danger. -There are numbers more higher up in the hills; we must go back." - -"Yes, yes," she answered, desperately. "Pray don't think about us. Go; -do go!" - -Oscott brought out his horse. The shepherd smiled pityingly at the -children. "We'll tell the boundary-rider to look you up. He will bring -the dog his breakfast, and I have no doubt Mrs. Feltham will send him -with yours." - -With a cheery good-night, crossed by the shepherd with a cheerier -good-morning, intended to keep their spirits up, the men departed. - -Edwin put his arm round Audrey. "Are you really afraid? I would not -show a white feather after all he said. Come inside." - -The hut was very similar to the one at the entrance of the gorge, with -the customary bed of fern leaves and thick striped blanket. The men had -laid Effie down upon it, and Cuthbert was kneeling beside her rubbing -her hands. - -"I'll tell you a secret," he whispered. "Our Audrey has gone over to -the groaners." - -"No, she has not," retorted Edwin. "But once I heard that Cuthbert was -with the criers." - -"Where are we?" asked Effie piteously. - -"Safe in the house that Jack built," said her brother, wishing to get up -a laugh; but it would not do. - -Audrey turned her head away. "Let us try to sleep and forget -ourselves." - -Edwin found a horse-rug in the hut, and went out to throw it over -Beauty's back, for the wind was blowing hard. There was plenty of -drift-wood strewing the shore, and he carefully built up the fire. -Having had some recent experience during the charcoal-burning, he built -it up remarkably well, hoping the ruddy blaze would comfort Audrey--at -least it would help them to dry their muddy clothes. The sound of the -trampling surf and the roar of the angry sea seemed as nothing in the -gray-eyed dawn which followed that night of fear. - -He found, as he thought, his sisters sleeping; and sinking down in the -nest of leaves which Cuthbert had been building for him, he soon -followed their example. But he was mistaken: Audrey only closed her -eyes to avoid speaking. She dared not tell him of their father's peril -for fear he should rush off with the men, urged on by a desperate desire -to share it. "I know now," she thought, "why father charged him to -remain with us." - -Her distress of mind drowned all consciousness of their strange -surroundings. What was the rising of the gale, the trampling of the -surf upon the sand, or the dashing of the tumultuous waves, after the -fire and smoke of Tarawera? - -But Cuthbert started in his dreams, and Edwin woke with a cry. Shaking -himself from the clinging leaves, now dry as winter hay, he ran out with -the impression some one had called him. It was but the scream of the -sea-gull and the moan of the storm. It should have been daylight by this -time, but no wintry sun could penetrate the pall-like cloud of blue -volcanic dust which loaded the atmosphere even there. - -It seemed to him as if the sea, by some mysterious sympathy, responded -to the wild convulsions of the quaking earth. The billows were rolling -in towards him mountains high. He turned from the angry waves to -rebuild his fire. - -Did Oscott keep it as a beacon through the night on the ledge of rock -which sheltered his hut from the ocean breezes? From its position Edwin -was inclined to think he did, although the men in the hurry of their -departure had not exactly said so. By the light of this fire he could -now distinguish the outline of a tiny bay--so frequent on the western -coast of the island--a stretch of sandy shore, and beyond the haven over -which the rock on which he stood seemed sentinel, a sheet of boiling -foam. - -And what was that? A coasting steamer, with its screw half out of the -water, tearing round and round, whilst the big seas, leaping after each -other, seemed washing over the little craft from stem to stern. - -He flung fresh drift-wood on his beacon-fire until it blazed aloft, a -pyramid of flame. "Audrey dear, Audrey," he ran back shouting, "get up, -get up!" - -She appeared at the door, a wan, drooping figure, shrinking from the -teeth of the gale. "Is it father?" she asked. - -"Father! impossible, Audrey. We left him miles away. It is a ship--a -ship, Audrey--going down in the storm," he vociferated. - -She clasped her hands together in hopeless despair. - -Cuthbert pulled her back. "You will be blown into the sea," he cried. -"Let me go. Boys like me, we just love wild weather. I shan't hurt. -What is it brings the downie fit?" he asked. "Tell old Cuth." - -"It is father, dear--it is father," she murmured, as his arms went round -her coaxingly. - -"I know," he answered. "I cried because I could not help it; but Edwin -says crying is no good." - -"Praying is better," she whispered, buttoning up his coat a little -closer. But what was he wearing? - -"Oh, I got into somebody's clothes," he said, "and Edwin helped me." - -"It is father's short gray coat," she ejaculated, stroking it lovingly -down his chest, as if it were all she ever expected to see of her father -any more. - -"So much the better," he answered, undaunted. "I want to be father -to-night." - -"Night!" repeated Edwin, catching up the word, "How can you stand there -talking when there is a ship going down before our eyes?" - -Cuthbert ran up the rocky headland after his brother, scarcely able to -keep his footing in the increasing gale. There, by the bright stream of -light flung fitfully across the boiling waves, he too could see the -little vessel tossing among the breakers. An Egyptian darkness lay -around them--a darkness that might be felt, a darkness which the -ruddiest glow of their beacon could scarcely penetrate. - -"You talk of night," Edwin went on, as the brothers clung together, "but -it is my belief it has long since been morning. I tell you what it is, -Cuth: the sun itself is veiled in sackcloth and ashes; it can't break -through this awful cloud." - -Young as they were, they felt the importance of keeping up the fire to -warn the steamer off the rocks, and again they set to work gathering -fuel. The men had said but little about the fire, because they knew it -was close on morning when they departed, and now--yes, the morning had -come, but without the daylight. - -Old roots and broken branches drifted in to shore were strewing the -beach. But as the boys were soon obliged to take a wider circle to -collect them, Edwin was so much afraid of losing his little brother he -dare not let go his hand. Then he found a piece of rope in the pocket -of "father's coat," and tied their arms together. So they went about -like dogs in leash, as he told Cuthbert. If dogs did their hunting in -couples, why should not they? - -Meanwhile Audrey, whose heart was in the hills, was watching landwards -from the little window at the back of the hut. Edwin's pyramid of fire -shot fitful gleams above the roof and beyond the black shadow of the -shanty wall. Beauty, who had never known the luxury of a stable until -he came into the hands of his new masters, was well used to looking out -for himself. He had made his way round to the back of the hut, and now -stood cowering under the broad eaves, seeking shelter from the raging -blast. - -Where the firelight fell Audrey could faintly distinguish a line of -road, probably the one leading to the mansion. To the left, the -wavering shadows cast upon the ground told her of the near neighbourhood -of a grassy embankment, surmounted by a swinging fence of wire, the -favourite defence of the sheep-run, so constructed that if the half-wild -animals rush against it the wire swings in their faces and drives them -back. She heard the mournful howling of a dog at no great distance. -Suddenly it changed to a clamorous bark, and Audrey detected a faint but -far-away echo, like the trampling of approaching horsemen. - -She pushed the window to its widest and listened. Her long fair hair, -which had been loosely braided for the night, was soon shaken free by -the raging-winds, and streamed about her shoulders as she leaned out as -far as she could in the fond hope that some one was coming. - -The knitted shawl she had snatched up and drawn over her head when she -jumped into her father's arms was now rolled up as a pillow for Effie. -She shivered in the wintry blast, yet courted it, as it blew back from -her the heated clouds of whirling ashes. Faint moving shadows, as of -trees or men, began to fleck the pathway, and then a band of horsemen, -galloping their hardest, dashed across the open. - -Audrey's pale face and streaming hair, framed in the blackness of the -shadowing roof, could not fail to be seen by the riders. With one -accord they shook the spades they carried in the air to tell their -errand, and a score of manly voices rang out the old-world ballad,-- - - "What lads e'er did our lads will do; - Were I a lad I'd follow him too. - He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel." - - -Audrey waved her "God-speed" in reply. With their heads still turned -towards her, without a moment's pause, they vanished in the darkness. -Only the roll of the chorus thrown back to cheer her, as they tore the -ground beneath their horses' hoofs, rose and fell with the rage of the -storm-- - - "He's owre the hills we daurna name, - He's owre the hills ayont Dumblane, - Wha soon will get his welcome hame. - My father's gone to fecht for him, - My brithers winna bide at hame, - My mither greets and prays for them, - And 'deed she thinks they're no to blame. - He's owre the hills," etc. - - -The last faint echo which reached her listening ears renewed the -promise-- - - "What lads e'er did our lads will do; - Were I a lad I'd follow him too. - He's owre the hills, he's owre the hills." - - -The voices were lost at last in the howl of the wind and the dash of the -waves on the angry rocks. But the music of their song was ringing still -in Audrey's heart, rousing her to a courage which was not in her nature. - -She closed the window, and knelt beside the sleeping Effie with a -question on her lips--that question of questions for each one of us, be -our emergency what it may--"Lord, what wouldest thou have me to do?" -She was not long in finding its answer. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII.* - - *A RAGING SEA.* - - -The boys rushed in exclaiming, "Audrey, Audrey! the ship is foundering! -The men are getting off into the boat, and they can't keep its head to -the sea. She swings round broadside to the waves, and must be filling. -Is there a rope about the hut--anywhere, anywhere; a long, strong rope, -dear Audrey?" - -How should she know what was in the hut? But she knew what was put in -the cart: the ropes which tied the load were there. She had pulled them -out of the shed with the harness herself. - -Off went Edwin, shouting, "A rope! a rope! a kingdom for a rope!" - -Cuthbert released himself from the leash, which was dragging him along -too fast, and ran back to his sister. - -"Did you hear the singing?" she asked. "Did you see the men ride past? -They are gone to the rescue, Cuth; they are gone to father's help. May -God reward them all." - -"And will you come to ours?" he said. "Audrey, you could feed the fire. -Edwin and I have got a lot of wood together. You have only to keep -throwing it on; and then I can help Edwin." - - "'What lads e'er did our lads will do; - Were I a lad I'd follow him too,'" - -she answered, slipping her shawl from under Effie's head and tying it -once more over her own. They went out together. Cuthbert helped her up -the rock, pulled a big root in to the front of the fire to make her a -seat, and left her a willing stoker. He had pointed out the tiny -cockle-shell of a boat--a small dark speck beyond the sheet of boiling -foam, with the hungry, curling waves leaping after it. - -Could it escape swamping in the outer line of breakers it could never -hope to cross? It was running before them now. Edwin had put Beauty -once more into the cart, and was carefully knotting the rope to the back -of it. - -He had learned to tie a safety-knot--a sailor's knot--on their voyage -out. Thank God for that! It whiled away an idle hour at the time; now -it might prove the saving of human creatures' lives. That the cart was -heavy and lumbering and strong was cause for rejoicing. - -"You and I, Cuth, could not pull a man through such a sea; but Beauty -can. We know how well he crossed the ford. I shall back him into the -water as far as ever I can, and then jump into the cart and throw the -rope. You see my plan?" - -"I do," said Cuth; "but as soon as you leave go of Beauty's head he'll -come splashing back again out of the water. You must have me in the -cart to hold his reins." - -"I dare not," protested Edwin. "A shrimp like you would be washed out -to sea in no time; and I promised father to take care of you. No, Cuth, -you are not yet ten years old." - -"I am sure I look a good bit older than that, in father's coat," urged -Cuthbert, looking down upon himself with considerable satisfaction; but -Edwin was inexorable. "Tie me in the cart, then," cried Cuthbert. - -"Where is the old leash?" - -It was quickly found, and Edwin owned the thought was a good one. - -When all was ready a sudden impulse prompted them to run back into the -hut and look at Erne, and then up the rock for a final word with Audrey. -They found her already wet with the salt sea spray, and almost torn to -pieces by the wind, but, as Edwin said, "at it all the same." - -The final word was spoken, reiterated, shouted; who, alas! could hear it -in the rage of the storm? So it came to a snatch of kiss, and away they -ran, leaving Audrey with the impression that the moving lips were trying -to repeat, "Keep us a jolly blaze." - -Voice being useless on such a morning, Audrey made answer by action, and -flung her brands upon the fire with such rapidity that the column of -flame rose higher and higher, flinging its fitful gleams across the -sands, where the boys were busy. - -The recent voyage had taken away all fear of the sea even from Cuthbert, -who was already tied to the front of the cart, with Beauty's reins in -his hand, holding him in with all his might. Edwin, with his teeth set -and a white look about his lips, had seized the horse's head, and was -backing him into the water. Splash, splash into the wall of wave, rising -higher and higher at every step, and almost lifting Edwin off his feet. -Then he swung himself into the cart by Cuthbert's side. Beauty felt his -firmer grasp as the reins changed hands, and turning his head with a -look in his resolute eye that showed him a willing partner in the daring -plan, he reversed the position, choosing rather to breast the opposing -billows. Edwin let him have his way, and with a dash and a snort he -plunged into their midst, carrying the boys full fifteen yards into the -raging sea. The brothers clung to the cart as the waves dashed in their -faces. Caps were gone in a moment. The cart was filling. Beauty held -his head high above the water, and struggled on another yard or so. -Then Edwin felt they must go no further, and turned the cart round. - -It was no easy matter to make Beauty stand. His natural sense of -danger, his high intelligence, his increasing love for the boys, all -prompted him to bring them out of the water, not to stay in it. He was -bent on rushing back to dry ground, as Cuthbert had predicted. The boys -thundered "Whoa, whoa!" with all the endearing epithets they were wont -to lavish upon him in his stable. He was brought to a stand at last, -and Edwin, raising himself on the side of the cart, looked round for the -boat. - -It was nowhere. His heart sank cold within him. - -"O Cuth, we are too late, too late!" he groaned. - -Then Audrey's fire sent up a brighter blaze, and hope leaped lightly -into life once more, and he cried out joyfully, "I see it!" but stopped -abruptly, almost drawing back his words with bated breath. - -The momentary glimpse had shown him the luckless boat, blown along by -the force of the wind, without the help of an oar, dash into the -bursting crest of a giant roller. It flung the boat across the line of -boiling foam. The men in it, finding their oars useless, were kicking -off their boots, preparing for a swim. He knew it by their attitudes. -He seized the pole they had put in the cart to use as a signal. It was -a willow sapling, torn up by its roots, which they had found when they -were gathering the firewood. - -Cuthbert had peeled off the bark at the thin end, whilst Edwin had -twisted its pliant boughs into a strong hoop, to tie at the end of his -rope. - -As Edwin raised it high above his head--a tall, white wand, which must -be conspicuous in the surrounding darkness--he saw the boat turn over, -the angry waves rush on, and all was gone. A cry of dismay broke from -the brothers' lips: "Lord help us, or they perish!" - -"I could not have done this without you, Cuth. We are only two boys, but -now is our hour." - -Edwin had learned a great deal from the sailors' stories during their -voyage, and he had been a crack kite-flier on the playground at his -English school; so that he was quite alive to the importance of keeping -his rope free from entanglement, which really is the vital point in -throwing a rope at sea. He had laid it carefully on the bottom of the -cart, fold upon fold, backwards and forwards, and Cuth had stood upon it -to keep it in place. The hoop lay on the top of the coil, and to the -hoop he had tied the plaid-scarf from his own neck, to serve it as a -sail. - -The paralyzing fear came over him now that whilst they were doing all -this the time for help had gone by. "But we won't stop trying," he -said, "if it seems ever so hopeless; God only knows." - -He took his brother's place on the coil of rope, and unfolding a yard or -two, flung the hoop from him, taking aim at the spot where the boat had -capsized. The wind caught the scarf and bore the hoop aloft; Edwin let -his rope go steadily, fold after fold. Would it carry it straight? -Would the men see his scarf fluttering in the wind? He felt sure a hand -might catch the hoop if they only saw it. But, alas, it was so small! -He leaned against his brother back to back, and if the hot tears came it -was because he was only a boy. Cuthbert put a hand behind him. There -was comfort to him in the touch. One burning drop just trickled on his -thumb. - -"What, you crying!" he exclaimed; "is not praying better?" - -"God have mercy on us!" burst from Edwin's lips; and Cuthbert echoed -back the gasping words. Had they ever prayed like that before? All, -all that was in them seemed to pour itself forth in that moment of -suspense, when God alone could hear. - -[Illustration: A PERILOUS RESCUE.] - -The rope tightened in Edwin's grasp; something had clutched it at last. -The tug had come. Would his knots give way? He was faint with the fear -that his work was not well done--not strong enough to stand the strain -which he felt was increasing every moment. It seemed to him, as he -watched with every sense alert and tried to its uttermost, that each -successive earthquake shock, as it heaved the land, sent a corresponding -wave across the sea. One of these had carried out his hoop, and he knew -he must wait until it subsided to draw his rope in, or it might snap -like pack-thread under the awful strain. - -"O Edwin, I am getting so tired!" said little Cuth, in a tone of such -utter exhaustion it went like a knife through his brother to hear him. - -"Only another minute," he replied; "just another minute--if we can hold -on." - -The longed-for lull was coming. Edwin gave Beauty his head; but the -poor horse was stiffened with standing, and almost refused to move. -Then Edwin tied himself to the cart. - -"O Beauty, if you fail us we are done!" - -The despairing cry roused the torpid energies of the horse. With a -stretch and a snort he tugged and strained, dragging his load a yard or -two landwards. A man's head appeared above the water. The joy of the -sight brought back hope and capability. It was but a spasmodic effort; -but Beauty caught the thrill of joy animating the boyish voices, -cheering him on to renewed exertions. The wheels splashed round in the -water; a cloud of muddy spray rose between Edwin and the rescued man. -He could not see the sailor's face. The fire was dying. Was all the -wood they had gathered--all that great heap--burnt up at last? - -Audrey raked the dying brands together, and a fresh flame shot upwards, -and by its welcome radiance Edwin was aware of two hands working their -way along the tightened rope, one over the other, towards the cart. - -The tightened rope! Yes; that was proof that some one had grasped the -hoop. In another moment that stranger hand was clasping Edwin's in the -darkness that was following fast upon those fitful flames. - -"Hold hard!" shouted a stentorian voice, and a man got up into the cart -beside him. A deep-drawn breath, a muttered prayer, and the strong, -powerful hands clasped over Edwin's, and began to draw in the rope. - -Not a word was said, for the boys had no voice left to make themselves -heard. The last shout of joy to Beauty had left them spent and faint. -The stranger, surprised at the smallness and feebleness of the hand he -now let go, gently pushed the boy aside and took his place. Edwin -leaned against the front of the cart beside his brother, dead beat and -scarcely conscious of anything but a halo of happiness radiating from -the blessed consciousness which found expression in a murmured, "Cuth, -old boy, we've done it." - -The reins fell slack on Beauty's neck, but the good horse needed no -guiding. He seemed aware that two more men got up into the cart, and -when a pause followed he gave his proud head a triumphant toss, and -brought them up out of the water. There were three men in the cart and -twice as many more holding on by the rope. - -Audrey ran down from the dying fire to meet them. - -A strange, unnatural kind of twilight, a something weird and ghastly, -belonging to neither day nor night, seemed to pervade the land, and shed -a sepulchral gleam across the men's pale faces. Audrey pushed open the -door of the hut and beckoned to the sailors to enter. - -They gathered round her, shaking the salt water from their dripping -garments, and uttering broken exclamations of surprise and thankfulness. -She saw a boy in the midst of the group limping painfully. As she -hurried up to his assistance, she discovered that it was neither Edwin -nor Cuthbert; but he grasped her outstretched hand so thankfully she -could not withdraw it. There was a wildness in the alarm with which she -began to ask them for her brothers the men could not mistake. They gave -the forlorn girl an almost unanimous assurance that they knew nothing of -her brothers. For the men clinging to the rope had not seen the boys in -the cart. "But," added one heartily, "we'll protect you, for there is -wild work afoot somewhere to-night. We have heard the cannonading, -broadside after broadside, or we should not have gone rock-hunting in -the dark. It is fool's work--you can give it no better name--coasting -along a dangerous shore, with a sky too black for moon or star to -penetrate." - -"Yon's the little maid who fed the beacon," said another. "I saw her -move across the front of the fire and throw her sticks upon it. God -bless her! Every minute I thought we should see her blown over into the -sea." - -"Not me, not me," interposed poor Audrey. - -Getting free in her desperation, and pressing between the sailors, she -ran towards Beauty, who was slowly lagging round to the back of the hut. - -"If my brothers are missing," she cried, "they must have been washed out -of the cart." She clasped her hands before her eyes to shut out the -sight of the drowning boys which imagination was picturing, and so -failed to perceive the two weary heads leaning against the side of the -cart. It was but a moment of agony, one of the unfounded alarms which -always cluster round a real danger and follow the shock of dread like -its shadow. - -"Edwin, Edwin! where are you?" she cried.--"Cuthbert, Cuthbert! come to -me!" - -The rocks gave back the hollow echo, "Come to me!" - -But she did not hear two faint voices feebly expostulating, "We tied -ourselves to the cart, and we can't undo the knots. We are here, like -two galley-slaves chained to the oars, and we can't get out." - -A shock of earthquake sent Beauty with a shiver of terror straight to -the open. The men threw themselves on their faces, knowing how easily -they might lose their footing on the reeling ground; whilst Audrey, -neglecting this precaution, went over like a nine-pin. - -The hut shook as if its carefully-piled walls were about to give way, -and Audrey, who had seen their house go down in the beginning of this -fearful night, shrieked out for Effie. - -As the tremor subsided, and the sailors gathered from poor Audrey's -broken sentences some idea of the awful catastrophe on land, they turned -from the hut, judging it safer to remain in the open. - -Mates were looking out for mates. Were they all there? Captain, -boatswain, cook--not one of the little coaster's crew was missing. -Passengers all right: a gold-digger from Otago, the schoolboy from -Christchurch. Are all saved? Only the hand which threw the rope was -missing. - -Who backed the cart into the sea? they asked; and where was Oscott? - -When they learned from Audrey's frantic replies that every man had gone -to the rescue, and the little fugitives had been left in the hut alone, -the sailors' desire to find the missing boys was as earnest as her own. - -They pointed to the cart jogging steadily across the grassy plain, -dotted with sheep, and shaded here and there by groups of stately trees. - -"God bless the young heroes!" they exclaimed. "Why, there they are--off -to the mansion to beg for tucker for us all." - -Audrey, set at rest from this last great fear, escaped from her -questioners, and retreated to Effie and the empty hut, saying -reproachfully,-- - -"How just like Edwin! But they might have told me what they were going -to do." - -It seemed a moment's reprieve. There was nothing more to be done. -Audrey sank upon the bed of fern leaves, weary and wet and worn, unable -any longer to resist the craving for a little sleep. - -The sailors lit a fire on the open grass beyond the hut, and grouped -themselves round it to talk and rest. The poor fellows who had been -dragged to shore, clinging to the rope, found their shoeless feet cut -and bleeding from the sharp edges of the oyster-shells with which the -sands were studded. But when an hour or more passed by, the sunless -noon brought with it sharper pangs of hunger to them all. - -No cart had returned, no boundary rider had put in an appearance, and -the men began to talk of a walk over the grass to find the mansion. -They were all agreed as to the best course for them to pursue. They must -turn "sundowners"--the up-country name for beggars--tramp across to the -nearest port, begging their way from farm to farm. They knew very well -no lonely settler dare refuse supper and a night's lodging to a party of -men strong enough to take by force what they wanted. - -The embankment with its swinging fence, the shepherd's hut where the -girls were sleeping, told them where they were--on the confines of a -great sheep-run. Their route must begin with the owner's mansion, which -could not be very far off, as there was no food in the hut, and no -apparent means for cooking any, so Audrey had told them. But now the -storm was dying, the captain rose to look round the hut for himself. He -was wondering what to do with the Christchurch boy he had undertaken to -land at another great sheep-run about twenty-five miles farther along -the coast It was of no use to take him back with them, a hundred miles -the other way. He hoped to leave him at the mansion. The owner must be -a wealthy man, and would most likely undertake to put the boy on board -the next steamer, which would pass that way in a week or ten days. - -So he called to the boy to go with him, and explained his purpose as -they went. They waked up Audrey, to ask the owner's name. - -"Feltham," she answered, putting her hand to her head to recall her -scattered senses; between rabbiters and sailors she was almost dazed. - -To be left alone again in that empty hut, without food, without her -brothers, was enough to dismay a stouter heart than hers. The captain -spoke kindly. - -"I want to see you all safe in this sheep-owner's care before I leave -you," he said. "It was stupid in those brothers of yours to go off with -the cart, for you are too exhausted to walk." - -"Did you ever hear the name of Bowen in these parts?" asked the -Christchurch boy eagerly, nursing a bleeding foot the while. - -Audrey thought of the kind old gentleman in Ottley's coach, and -answered, brightening. - -"I am his grandson," the boy replied. "I am Arthur Bowen." - - - - - *CHAPTER IX.* - - *NOTHING TO EAT.* - - -As the shock of the earthquake subsided, and Beauty rallied from his -terror, his pace began to slacken. If Edwin had not tied himself and -Cuthbert so securely in the cart, they might have been thrown out when -Beauty ran away. So the knots which would not be untied proved their -protection; and now they found themselves trotting leisurely through -verdant stretches, dotted with ti tree and blue-gum, and overgrown with -toi and flax and rushes. Before them rose the great gates of the avenue -leading to the central station-house. The white front of Feltham's -mansion gleamed through the tall stems of the trees which surrounded it; -whilst beyond and around them were the sheds and walls, the pools and -bridges, comprising stock-yards and shearing-places, where thousands of -wild cattle and tens of thousands of wilder sheep were washed and -dipped, and counted and branded, year after year. - -The ingenious arrangement of pool and paddock and pen by which this -gigantic undertaking is safely accomplished looked to the boys like a -wooden village. - -Beauty drew up at the friendly gate of his own accord, attracted by the -welcome sounds of human life as stockmen and shepherds hurried out to -their morning work. Half the hands were off to the hills; the remaining -half found in consequence the more to do. The poor terrified cattle had -suffered considerably. Sheep were cast in every ditch. Cows had gored -each other in their mad terror; and broken fences told of wild leaps and -escaped bulls to be sought for in the neighbouring bush. - -The boundary rider, whose sole duty is to parade the vast domain and -give notice at headquarters of unwary gaps and strays, had been spurring -hither and thither, delayed by the gloom of the morning and the herds of -wild bulls which had broken in, while the tame had broken out. With -demolished fences, and frightened sheep dying around them by hundreds, -the little fugitives in Oscott's hut had been forgotten. - -But when the boundary rider saw a cart at his master's gate, blue with -volcanic mud above, and dripping from below with the slime of the sea, -he thought of the family from the hills waiting somewhere for the -breakfast he was to have carried in his saddle-bag. His circuit was but -half completed. "I shall find them yet," he said to himself, as he -galloped up behind the cart. He saw the dangling rope, and the white -faces of the two boys huddled together in a state of complete -exhaustion. He tied his horse to the gate, and jumping into the cart, -rattled Beauty up the avenue to his master's door, which stood wide open -to all comers. For every hour brought fresh rumours, and fresh parties -of fugitives who had fled precipitately from their homes when the storm -of mud began. - -He took his knife from his pocket and cut the rope which tied Edwin and -his brother to the cart. Some one ran out with a cup of coffee, which he -poured down their throats, and then the boys began to revive. He wanted -to take them in-doors and put them to bed. But the relief-party had -already sent down so many sufferers from the hills every bed was full of -children, women, and even men, who had been dug out of the muddy stream -in which they were suffocating. - -As soon as Edwin could speak, he added his story to the others, -entreating the men who turned their heads to listen, as they hurried in -and out, to send some food to his sisters, who were left alone in -Oscott's hut. As for the sailors, the feeling among Feltham's people -was decided: any one not from the hills must be left to take care of -himself. - -Just then a horseman, covered with mud and foam, came spurring towards -the house, shouting to the crowd around the door,-- - -"I've come for every man on the ground, by the master's orders. Leave -everything. Bring your spades, and follow me. The nearer we get to -Tarawera the thicker lies the mud. Our government station at Rotorua is -buried beneath it, church and all. Te Ariki and Maura are nowhere to be -seen. The low whares in the Maori pahs are utterly destroyed. Wherever -the roofs have been strong enough to uphold the weight of the falling -mud, the inhabitants are alive beneath them now. Come to the -rescue--come!" - -The last hoarse words were scarcely audible. The boundary rider took -the unfinished cup from Edwin's lips and passed it to the man, and the -boy was glad that he did so. - -A cry of "Spades! spades!" rang through the increasing group of -listeners, which seemed to gather and disperse with equal rapidity. -Mrs. Feltham made her way through the midst to the bell-tower, and rang -a frantic peal to call all hands together. Horses were saddling; men -were mounting; others were hurrying up to learn the meaning of the hasty -summons. Edwin drew his cart aside under the trees to watch the -departure. - -Mrs. Feltham reappeared on her doorstep with knife and loaf, trying to -fill every pocket with bread before each one rode off. She could not -make her intention understood. The men, in their impatience to be gone, -would hardly stop to take it. - -"Oh," thought Edwin, "they forget they will want it all to give away." - -He leaned over his brother. "Cuth, take the reins." But Cuth's numbed -hands let them drop. Edwin twisted them round his arm, and with a nod -and a smile made his way to Mrs. Feltham. - -His voice was so weak and faint she could not hear what he said, but the -ready hand was offering to pass on the great hunches of bread she was -cutting, and she kept him at work, little dreaming how he had to turn -his head away again and again to resist the impulse to take a bite by -the way. As he took the last crust from her, and saw that it was the -last, a sudden faintness overcame him, and he dropped on the stones at -her feet. - -"I am so very, very hungry," he said piteously. - -"Why did not you tell me that before the basket was empty?" she -retorted. "You must remember, my boy, every bit of food for man and -beast must be buried under this dreadful mud for miles and miles. I may -have a famishing army round me before night, and how am I to feed them -all? Not a crumb must be wasted. If you are so hungry, go into the -kitchen and clear up the scraps on the men's plates. I would turn all -the flour in the granary into bread, and feed you every one, if I had -only hands to make it and bake it. Stop," she went on; "though you are -a boy you could be of some use. You could wash and boil a copperful of -potatoes and pumpkins; that would be something to set before the -starving cart-loads I hope and trust they will be successful in saving." - -"No, ma'am," answered Edwin. "I must go back to my sisters. I have -left them alone with a lot of rough sailors." - -His "no" was round and resolute. - -She took out her purse, saying almost coaxingly, "Here is a week's wage -for a day's work." - -"I am very sorry, Mrs. Feltham, but I really can't stay," he persisted. - -She turned away with an impatient gesture and went in-doors. - -"She takes me for some unlucky beggar," thought Edwin, crawling round to -the kitchen door, glad to avail himself of the somewhat ungracious -permission to look out for the scraps. "It is dog's fare," thought -Edwin, "but it is more to me than her gold." He found a piece of -newspaper, and walked round and round the long breakfast-table, -collecting into it such morsels as he could find. Of most of the dishes -the hungry young shepherds had made a clean sweep. Still there were some -unfinished crusts of bread, a corner of Melton pie, a rasher of bacon -burned in the grilling. On the dresser he discovered a bone of mutton, -evidently laid aside for the hounds. He would not touch the sugar in -the basin, or take a peep at the contents of the cupboards, feeling -himself on his honour. The sounds within convinced him Mrs. Feltham and -the rest of her household were hard at work transforming the hospitable -mansion into a temporary hospital, for the reception of the poor -unfortunates who might be dug out alive but scarcely uninjured. - -"O Cuth, we haven't been the worst off by a long way!" exclaimed Edwin -suddenly, as the brothers sat together in their cart, enjoying their -bone of mutton, quite in the doggie line, but, as Cuthbert averred, -feeling themselves, as they ate, like new-made men. - -Then they turned Beauty homewards. Yes, that queer little shanty was a -kind of home. It was still dark as in a London fog, but the shocks of -earthquake were less, fainter and farther apart. - -Half-way down the road they met the party of sailors, walking barefoot -on the edge of the grass. They did not recognize the boys, but stopped -to ask the way to the central station. - -"We have just been there to beg for food," said Edwin, feeling it quite -"infra dig" to acknowledge the condition in which they reached Mrs. -Feltham's gate. "But," he added drearily, "we could not get it. Not -enough for you all." - -Then he hurried on to explain the tidings from the hills and the general -stampede to the rescue. - -"Turn back," urged the captain, "and give us a lift." - -"Lend us the cart," added Arthur Bowen. "If any harm should come to it, -grandfather will pay you for it; and as for the horse, he will get a -good feed of corn in Feltham's stable. I will see after him." - -Edwin was not sure he ought to trust the horse and cart with strangers, -but the prospect of a good feed of corn for Beauty went a long way; for -he had nothing for the horse to eat but the winter grass around the hut. -Down he jumped. - -"If there are so many men at this station," the sailors were saying, -"maybe they can find us an old pair of shoes; and if strong arms are in -request, we are ready to take our turn." - -They shook hands all round. - -"Good-bye, my lads, good-bye. It was a brave act to back that cart into -the sea, and you'll take a sailor's blessing with you to your home, -wherever it is. If there is anything washed ashore from the little -craft, you'll store it up high and dry until another coaster calls to -fetch it away." - -The promise was given on both sides. Edwin would find his Beauty safe -at Feltham's, and the captain his wreckage piled against the back of -Oscott's hut, although they might both be miles away when the two were -reclaimed. - -Edwin took Cuthbert's hand in his and walked on in grave silence. One -thing was clear--nobody would have time or thought to care for them. -They must just look out for themselves. - -"It is playing at Robinson Crusoe in earnest, we four in that little -hut," said Cuthbert. "He did lots of things to make himself -comfortable, but then he was a man." - -"It won't be for long," added Edwin. "I hardly think we shall see -father to-night, but he may be back to-morrow. If we could only find -something to eat. Whero and his mother lived on nuts and berries after -the muru, but then it was autumn." - -They sank again into silence. The barking of the boundary dog warned -them they were near the hut, and when it died away to a low growl they -distinguished a faint, soft murmur of singing. - -"Oh, hush!" they exclaimed. "Oh, listen! It is the girls; that is -Audrey." - -It put fresh life into the weary feet as they heard it clearer and -clearer-- - - "Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings." - - -"Heaven's gate," repeated the boys: it was the only word they could -distinguish. - -"Heaven's gate. It is a word to comfort us, for that is never shut," -added Edwin, as they stumbled against an uprooted ti tree. The long, -tapering stem, with its waving plume of feathery leaves, barred their -progress. Cuth was about to climb over it, for the hard brown trunk at -its base was six feet round; but Edwin ran off to examine its leafy -crown, where the cabbage which gave the tree its name should lie hidden. - -He parted the yard-long leaflets, and felt a something tall and crisp -growing up in their midst. - -A shout of glee brought Cuth to his assistance. They pulled the pliant -boughs to this side and that, and perceived what looked to them like a -coil of white ribbon, as thick and as long as a man's arm. Was this the -cabbage of which they had heard so much, for the sake of which the -lordly tree was so often cut down and destroyed? - -They tore off one of the ribbon-like flakes and tasted it. - -Cuth declared it was like eating almonds, only not so hard. - -"But how can we cut it without a knife?" cried Edwin, munching away at -the raw flakes in his fingers, and pronouncing them a right good feed -for them all, if they could but cut the cabbage out. - -There might be a knife in the hut, who could say. Away they rushed to -explore, guided through the tangle of flax and rushes by their sisters' -voices. - -The girls were sitting on the bed of fern in an abandonment of despair, -scarcely daring to believe their own ears when the refrain of their song -was caught up and repeated-- - - "With everything that pretty is, - My ladies sweet, arise." - - -"O Edwin, Edwin!" they exclaimed. "We thought you too had vanished." - -"We could not bear ourselves," said Effie, "so we took to singing. We -feared we were left to starve on our bed of leaves, like the 'Children -in the Wood,' and we were afraid there was not a robin redbreast -anywhere here to cover us up." - -"Oh, but there is a robin blackbreast," retorted Edwin; "a true-born -native, all the fitter for the undertaker's work. Only it is not going -to be done to-night, Dame Trot." He took the wee white face between his -hands, and felt so strong, so vigorous, so determined to take care of it -somehow. "I am not going away again, Effie." He pulled the newspaper -parcel out of his pocket and tossed it into Audrey's lap. "Beggars' -crumbs!" he laughed. But her cold, nerveless fingers seemed incapable -of untwisting the paper. - -"Hands were made before forks!" cried Cuthbert, pushing in between his -sisters, "and I've often heard that pie-crust is made to be broken, like -promises. I can spy a bill-hook in the corner, a little too big for -cutting up a pie, but just the thing to chop the cabbage out of a ti -tree." - -Edwin spun round and shouldered it in triumph. - -"There goes smash to the promise: he is off again as fast as he can go. -And now for the second breakage. You must not mind my dirty pads for -once, Audrey," Cuthbert went on, pulling the pie into two pieces and -making his sisters eat. - -The slender store in the newspaper would be soon exhausted. Cuthbert, -like a provident commissariat officer, was anxious to make the most of -it. He laid aside the bacon to eat with Edwin's cabbage, and piled up -the mutton-bones for their solitary neighbour, the boundary dog, who, -like themselves, had been breakfasting on broken promise. - -Audrey had recovered herself in some measure by the time Edwin returned -with his spoils. - -"Who'll buy? who'll buy?" he shouted; "yards upon yards of vegetable -ribbon, white and delicate enough to make the wedding favours for the -queen of cooks." - -"Oh, don't talk about cooking," put in Cuthbert; "it is so nice, let us -eat it as it is." - -So down they sat, breaking off flake after flake until they were -satisfied. As hunger diminished speech returned, and Audrey, who had -scarcely uttered a word whilst Edwin went over all they had heard and -seen at Mrs. Feltham's, became suddenly animated. A thought had struck -her, but she hesitated to propose her plan too abruptly. - -"Dears," she said earnestly, looking round at the other three, "father -will not come back to us perhaps for a day or two; it may even be a -week. Think of our own escape. Think if one of us had been buried in -that awful mud. How should we be feeling now? Whilst there is another -life to be saved father will not come away--no, not for our sakes, and -we must not wish that he should." - -Even Effie answered, "Oh no, we must not." - -"Then," continued Audrey, still more earnestly. "what are we going to -do?" - -"That is a poser," retorted Edwin. "The storm brought down the ti tree, -and that gave us the cabbage. The gale is dying. We had better take a -walk round and look about us. We may find something else. Heaven's -gate is open still, Audrey. We must bear this as patiently as we can, -and help will come." - -"Yes, dears," she answered, "if you can be patient here a little longer, -I think there is something I can do to help us all." - -"You, Audrey?" exclaimed her brothers; "you are as white as a sheet. -Let us do; we are twice as strong as you are." - -"Strength is not everything," she returned quietly. "There are some -things which only a girl can do. Now this is my plan. If Edwin will -walk with me to the central station, I will ask Mrs. Feltham to let me -help her. I will go for so much a day, and then at night when she pays -me I may persuade her to sell me some flour and meat and tea, food -enough for us all, dears." - -"Go out like a charwoman, Audrey!" exclaimed Edwin, in amazement. "Is -that what you mean?" - -"Well, yes," returned Audrey, in a considering tone, "it certainly would -be the same thing, if you like to call it so." - -"'Of old men called a spade a spade,'" grumbled Edwin. "I like to give -things their plain names, and then we know where we are." - -"If little Mother Audrey goes out charing, Cuth will poison himself, and -then there will be no more food wanting for him. That Mrs. Feltham -looked as cross as two sticks," declared Cuthbert. - -"Just listen to these proud young gentlemen," retorted Audrey. "Erne, -my dear, I turn to you to support me." - -"I'll do as you do," returned her little sister, laying her head on her -shoulder. - -"Not quite so fast, Dame Trot," interposed Edwin. "But if Audrey marches -home at night with a bag of flour on her back, you must make it into -Norfolk dumplings. Cuthbert and I, it seems, are good for nothing but -to eat them." - -"You ridiculous boys, why can't you be serious?" said Audrey, adding, in -an aside to Edwin, "Erne is too ill to exist on your vegetable ribbon, -even if we boil it. Well, is not my plan better--" - -"Than robin blackbreast and the burying business? Of course, you have -shut me up," he answered. - -So the decision was reached. Audrey untied her bundle. Combs and -brushes, soap and towels, a well-worn text-book, a little box of her own -personal treasures, all knotted up in one of Effie's pinafores. What a -hoard of comfort it represented! - -"That is a notice to quit for you and me, Cuth," remarked Edwin. "We'll -take the boundary dog his bones, and accommodate our honest charwoman -with a pailful of sea-water to assist the toilet operations." - -The storm had died away as suddenly as it rose, and the receding waves -had left the shelving sands strewn with its debris--uprooted trees, old -hats, and broken boards, fringed with seaweed. A coat was bobbing up -and down, half in the water and half out, while floating spars told of -the recent wreck. A keg sticking in the sand some feet below high-water -mark attracted the boys' attention, for Edwin was mindful of his promise -to the sailors. As they set to work to roll it up, they came upon the -oysters sticking edgeways out of the sand, and clinging in clusters to -the rocks. With a hurrah of delight they collected a goodly heap. Here -was a supper fit for a king. - - - - - *CHAPTER X.* - - *THE MAORI BOY.* - - -The bath of sea-water which Edwin had provided in the shepherd's pail -did more than anything else to restore poor Effie. When the arduous -task of opening the oysters was at last accomplished, by the aid of a -great clasp nail and a splinter of stone, the abundant and nourishing -meal which followed did them all so much good, Cuthbert and Effie -declared they did not mind being left alone in the hut half as much as -when father left them by the charcoal fires. They all wanted Audrey to -wait until morning, but her answer was resolute. - -"No, dears; the chance might be gone. It is just when the men come back -from the hills Mrs. Feltham will want me. They may come in the middle -of the night. Nobody knows when, and if I am there, at least I shall -hear what they say. Perhaps they will have been with father, and bring -us a message." - -This reconciled them all to her departure. Then she hurried away with -Edwin by her side, for fear the dark wintry day should close before she -reached her destination. - -Edwin guessed the distance to be about four miles; but they were in poor -order for walking, and were reduced to halting by the wayside -continually. Yet, as the snail got to the top of the wall at last, so -they reached the avenue gates. Here they agreed to part. There was no -more danger of Audrey losing herself, and both were uneasy at leaving -Effie and Cuthbert alone so long. - -During the walk they had talked over everything, which Audrey declared -was the greatest comfort imaginable. Edwin did not want to go up to the -house to fetch his Beauty. - -"I shall come for him to-morrow," he said; "then I can tell you how -Effie is, and we shall hear how you are getting on." - -The shades of night were gathering as Edwin turned away; but he could -not lose the white line of well-made road by which he was returning even -by starlight, yet he was afraid of encountering any of the wild cattle, -which he knew were roaming at will among the groves and coverts which -surrounded him. He found himself a stick, and trudged along, whistling -to keep his courage up. - -It was a danger to which he was altogether unaccustomed; for there is no -four-footed creature native to New Zealand bigger than a rat, and in the -primeval forest which surrounded his home the absence of all animal life -is its marked characteristic. But here the many horses and bulls which -had strayed from the early colonists had multiplied in the bush and -grown formidable, not to speak of the pigs which Captain Cook let loose -on the New Zealand shore, and which now, like the rabbits, overrun the -island. The sound of grunting in the midst of a flax-bush or the bleat -of a bell-wether was enough to startle him. - -The hoar was gathering white on the grass and sparkling like diamonds on -shrivelled fronds and gloomy evergreens, when he heard the barking of -the boundary dog, which told him he was nearing the hut, and his weary -feet jogged on at a quicker pace. - -The barking grew still more furious. A battle was going forward. -Instead of turning off towards the sea to find the hut, Edwin ran on to -the point of the road where it entered another sheep-run. As it was the -public coast-road, there was no gate. The dog was stationed there, with -a chain long enough to command the whole breadth of the road, to keep -the sheep from straying on to their neighbour's ground, and well he did -his work. He seemed to know in a moment to which side the adventurous -rover belonged who dared to intrude on his beat, and sent him home with -a resolute bark and a snap of the wool just to show how easily biting -could follow. But the cry which succeeded the onslaught of the dog, the -cry which made Edwin turn aside, was so like the cry of a child that it -shot a fear through him Cuthbert might have been tempted to pay the dog -another visit, and having no more bones to give him, the hungry brute -had seized poor Cuth instead. - -As Edwin came up he could just distinguish a small figure on the other -side of the boundary vainly endeavouring to pass. It must be Cuth, he -argued, because there was nobody else about; so he shouted to him to -stand still until he came up. But instead of obeying, the small figure -darted forward once more, and a fearful yell told Edwin the dog had -seized him at last. - -He sprang towards them, and grasping the dog's collar with both hands, -exerted all his strength to pull him off. Strong and savage as the -hairy hermit had become from the loneliness of his life, he had all a -dog's grateful remembrance of a kindness, and recognizing the hand which -had flung him the welcome bone earlier in the day, he suffered Edwin to -choke him off without turning on him. - -"Run!" cried Edwin to the boy he had delivered; "run beyond his reach -whilst I hold him." - -He had no need to repeat his exhortation. The shrieking boy fled like -the wind. It was not Cuthbert; Edwin knew that by the fleetness of his -hare-like speed. He did his best to soothe and coax the angry dog, -keeping his eye meanwhile on the retreating figure. - -As the distance between them increased, Edwin let the dog go. The -fugitive changed his course, and was circling round to regain the road. -Then Edwin started at right angles, and so got between him and the hut, -where Effie and Cuthbert were probably asleep. - -"They will be so frightened," thought Edwin, "if he runs in for refuge. -For poor little Eff's sake I must stop him." - -So they came up face to face in the open ground beyond the black shadow -of the boundary, and eyed each other in the starlight. - -"Whero!" exclaimed Edwin. - -"Ah, you!" cried the Maori boy, holding out both hands. "To meet you is -good." - -"Come in with me and rest," continued Edwin. "Are you hurt? It was -madness to try to pass the boundary dog in the dark. He might have torn -you to pieces." - -Out spoke the young savage, "I would have killed him first." - -"No, no," interposed Edwin. "He is set there as a sentinel to keep the -sheep from straying; he only did his duty." - -"I," repeated Whero--"am I a sheep, to be made to fear? All the goblins -in Lake Taupo should not turn me back to-night. I heard men saying in -Tauranga streets the sacred three had shot forth the lightning that made -all faces pale last night and laid the tall trees low. Are not they the -men from whom I spring who are sleeping the death-sleep in their bosom? -Last night they awakened; they are angry. The thunder of their voices -is louder than the cannon of the pakeha. Why are they calling? I know -not; but I answer I am theirs. I leaped out of the window of my school, -and ran as the water runs to the sea. No one could catch me, for I -thought of my father and mother; and I said in my heart, 'Will the anger -of the majestic ones fall upon the son of Hepe, or upon those who have -despoiled him?'" - -Edwin drew his arm within his dusky friend's. "It is not the dead men's -bones which are buried on Tarawera but the hidden fires which have burst -from the mountain which have done the mischief. Our house went down in -the shock of the earthquake, and we fled from it for our lives to the -sea." - -"I took the coast-road," continued Whero, "for the coach was turned -back. Trees lay everywhere in its path; and no man knows more than I -have told you." - -Edwin trembled for Whero, for he remembered how the men had said the low -whares of the natives were completely buried. - -"Wait with us," he entreated; "wait for the daylight." - -As he began to describe the strangeness of the disaster which had -overwhelmed the district, the ready tears of the Maori race poured down -in torrents from Whero's eyes. - -Edwin led him into the hut; and finding Cuthbert and Effie fast asleep, -the two lowered their voices, and sitting side by side in the starlight, -went over again the startling story until voices grew dreamy, and Edwin -became suddenly aware that the eager listener reclining at his elbow was -lost in forgetfulness. Then he too laid down his head and gained a -respite from his cares and fears in the deep sweet sleep of healthy -boyhood. - -Effie was the first to awaken. A solitary sunbeam had made its way -through the tiny window, and was dancing along the opposite wall. The -rest of the hut was in shadow. She did not see Edwin with Whero -nestling by his side, for the long fern fronds rose in heaps around her; -but she heard a sound from the road, and called joyously to Cuthbert,-- - -"Get up; there is somebody coming." - -Cuth tumbled to his feet; Edwin started upright. They were rushing to -the door, when Whero lifted a black hand and commanded silence. His -quicker sense of hearing had already told him of men and horses near at -hand. - -Effie eyed him in mute amazement. "Look," she whispered at last, -pointing to Whero's head, "there is a big boy-rat rustling in the -leaves." - -"Hush! listen!" cried her brothers. - -"Is it father?" she asked, in a flutter of fear and expectation. - -The boys ran out, elate with a similar hope. But Edwin saw in a moment -there was only a party of shepherds returning for supplies. They -scarcely waited to listen to his eager questions. - -"Can't stop," they shouted. "But the worst is over. All are going back -to their farms. You will have your own people coming to look you up -before long. You are safest where you are for the present." - -Their words were intended to reassure the boys--Edwin was certain of -that; but their faces were so grave, they seemed to contradict the -comforting assertion that the worst was over. - -"I must hear more," cried Edwin. "I'll run after them and ask if any -one has seen father." - -The tired horses were walking slowly; one or two seemed to have fallen -lame, and all were covered with mud. - -"We shall soon overtake them," thought Edwin; but Whero outstripped him -in the chase. The shepherds looked back. One amongst their number -halted, and shouted the inquiry, "What now?" - -"Did you reach the lake in the hills? How is it there?" burst forth -Whero. - -"Up among the natives?" answered the shepherd, not unkindly. "Nobody -knows. We did not get beyond the road, and we found enough to do. The -mud fell so thick every door and window was blocked in no time, and many -a roof fell in with the weight. Everything around the mountain lies -buried deep in mud." - -The shriek, the howl in which poor Whero vented his alarm so startled -the shepherd's horse it galloped off at a mad rate towards the mansion, -just as Edwin came up, pale and panting. But Whero's English was -scattered. He could only reiterate the man's last words, "Deep in mud; -buried, all buried deep in mud," and then he ran on in Maori. - -Edwin and Cuthbert looked at each other in despair. It was impossible to -understand what he was evidently trying to explain. - -"You wooden boys!" he exclaimed at last, as he turned away in disgust, -and raced off like a hare towards the mansion. - -Cuthbert was wild to follow, when a large merino ram bounded out of a -group of palm trees and knocked him over. - -"Go back to Effie," urged Edwin, "and I'll watch by the roadside, for -somebody else may pass." - -But Cuthbert could not find his way alone, and the brothers retraced -their steps. As they drew near the hut, the loud barking of the -boundary dog was again heard. Somebody might be coming by the -coast-road, somebody who could tell them more. - -It was the boundary rider from the neighbouring run, waiting and -watching for the appearance of his neighbour, to ascertain if any -tidings had yet been received from the lonely mountain wilds. All knew -now some dread catastrophe had overwhelmed the hills. Confused rumours -and vague conjectures were flying through the district beyond the reach -of the muddy rain. Earth-slips and fallen trees blocked every road. -The adventurous few who had made their way to the scene of the disaster -had not yet returned. - -Far as his eye could see across the grassy sweep not a shepherd was -moving. Feltham's sheep were straying by hundreds in his master's run. -Then the two boys came in sight, and arms were waved to attract -attention; and the burning anxiety on both sides found vent in the -question, "Any news from the hills?" - -As Edwin poured forth the story of their flight, another horseman was -seen spurring across the open. It was a messenger Mr. Bowen had -despatched the day before, to inquire among the shepherd hermits in -Feltham's outlying huts, who might, who must know more than their -seaside neighbours. But the man had ridden on from hut to hut, all -alike empty and deserted. About nightfall, at the extreme end of the -run, he came upon a man who had been struck down by the awful lightning, -who told a rambling tale of sudden flight before the strange storm. - -"So," said the shepherd, "I rested my horse, and determined to ride -round to the central station, or go on from farm to farm, to find out -all I could; but a trackless swamp stretched before me. Turning aside, -I fell in with a party of Feltham's men, who had made their way by the -river-bank as far as the government road. They were returning for a -cart to bring off one of their number, who had been knocked on the head -by a falling tree, trying to make his way through the bush." - -"Who was it?" asked Edwin breathlessly, his brief colloquy with the -horsemen he had passed full in his mind. They were the same men, but -not a word as to the accident to one of the relief-party had crossed -their lips. - -The significance of their silence flashed upon him. - -"It is father!" he exclaimed, "and they would not tell us." - -"No, Edwin, no," interposed little Cuth, with wide-eyed consternation. -"Why do you say it is father?" - -"Why, indeed," repeated Mr. Bowen's man. "I tell you it was a near -neighbour of the fordmaster's, who had come across to his help before -the others got up. For Hirpington and his people were all blocked in by -the weight of mud jamming up windows and doors, and were almost -suffocated; but they got them out and into the boat when the others -came. One man rowed them off to the nearest place of refuge, and the -others went on to look for the roadmen in their solitary huts." - -Every word the man let fall only deepened Edwin's conviction. - -He grasped Cuth's hand. Was this what Whero had tried to tell him? - -The doubt, the fear, the suspense was unbearable. Their first impulse -was to run after the shepherds, to hear all they had to tell. But the -Bowen men held them back; and whilst they questioned Edwin more closely, -Cuthbert sat down crying on the frosted grass. The boundary dog came up -and seated itself before him, making short barks for the bone that was -no longer to be had for the asking. The noise he made led the men to -walk their horses nearer to the hut, when the debris of the wreck, -scattered about the sands, met their eyes. That a coaster should have -gone down in the terrific storm was a casualty which the dwellers by the -sea-shore were well prepared to discover. They kicked over the -half-buried boots and broken spars, looking for something which might -identify the unfortunate vessel, and they brought Edwin into court once -again, and questioned him closely. He assured them the sailors were all -safe, and when they heard how they had borrowed his father's horse and -cart to take them across to the central station, they only blamed him -for his stupidity in not having asked the captain's name. - -"Yes, it was stupid," Edwin owned, "but then I did not know what I was -doing." - -The sound of their voices brought Effie to the door of the hut, and they -heard a little piping voice behind repeating, "Bowen, please sir; his -name was Bowen." - -"What! the captain's?" they cried. - -"No, the schoolboy's," she persisted, shrinking from the cold sea-breeze -blowing her hair into her eyes, and fluttering her scant blue skirt, and -banging at the door until it shut again, in spite of her utmost efforts -to keep it open. - -Here was a discovery of far more importance in the estimation of Mr. -Bowen's men than all the rest. - -"If that is our young master Arthur," they said, "coming up for the -holidays, we must find him, let alone everything else. We must be off -to the central station; and as for these children, better take them -along with us." - -This was just what Edwin wanted. After a reassuring word to Effie anent -the black boy-rat, he set himself to work piling up the wreckage, with -the care of one about to leave the place. - -He had not forgotten Hal's charge to stay where he left them. - -"But better be lost than starved," said the men; and he agreed with -them. Even Audrey had failed to send them food to that far-off hut. It -was clear there was no one to bring it. - -"You should have gone with the sailors," said the boundary rider. "You -must go with us." - -He wrapped the flap of his coat over Effie as Edwin lifted her on to his -knee, and his comrade called to Cuthbert, who was hoisted up behind him; -and so they set forth, Edwin walking in the rear. - -As the horses trotted onwards across the fern-covered downs, the -distance between them steadily increased, for the boy was tired. Once -or twice he flung himself down to rest, not much caring about losing -sight of his companions, as he knew the way. - -Edwin had nearly reached the gate of the avenue, when he saw Whero -scampering over the grass on Beauty's back. - -There was a mutual shout of recognition; and Whero turned the horse's -head, exclaiming,-- - -"Lee! Boy! Lee! Wanderer Lee! have you lost your horse? I went to -beg bread at the station, and he leaped over the stable-bar and followed -me. You must give him back, as you said you would, for how can I go to -the hills without him? I want him now." - -"And so do I," answered Edwin; "I want to go back with the shepherds to -father." - -"The men who spoke to us are gone. I saw them start," returned Whero. -"But jump up behind me, and we will soon overtake them." - -For one brief moment Edwin looked around him doubtfully. But Erne and -Cuthbert were safe with Audrey by this time, and he was sure Mr. Bowen, -"the old identity," their kind-hearted travelling companion, would take -good care of all three as soon as he heard of their forlorn condition. -"His grandson will tell him how Cuth and I pulled him through the surf. -I had better ride back to the hills with Whero, and see if it is safe -for us to go home. They may have taken father there already, and then I -know he will want me." So Edwin reasoned as he sprang up behind the -Maori boy. "And if I don't go with him," he added, "we may lose our -horse, and then what would father say to that?" - - - - - *CHAPTER XI.* - - *WIDESPREAD DESOLATION.* - - -As the boys rode onward a sharp and bracing wind blew in their faces. -The hoar still lay on the grass, and the many pools at which the sheep -were accustomed to drink were coated with ice. But the mysterious -darkness of the preceding day was over, and the sun shone forth once -more to gild a desolated world. - -Whero and Edwin were alike anxious to avoid meeting any of Mr. Feltham's -shepherds who might have returned to their daily work, for fear they -should try to stop them. - -Whero, with something of his father's skill, shot forward with a -reckless disregard for the safety of Edwin's neck. But the party they -were pursuing were long out of sight. - -As they reached the confines of the sheep-run, an unnatural grayness -overspread the landscape. Yet on they went, encountering clouds of dust -with every breeze. The blades of grass beneath the horse's hoofs, the -leaves rustling on the boughs, were all alike loaded with it. But the -cattle were still grazing, and despite the clouds of dust constantly -rising, the atmosphere above was clear; and the sunshine cheered their -spirits. - -"We will not turn back," said Edwin. - -They knew, by what the shepherds had told them, the force of the -eruption had expended itself; that danger was over. When the boys -ascended higher ground and gained a wider view, they could distinguish -parties of men marching up in every direction, with their spades on -their shoulders. For now the personal danger was diminished, the -anxiety to ascertain the fate of the unfortunate people living near the -sacred heights of Tarawera predominated. - -Above the range of hills there was a dense bank of steam, which rose -like a wall of snowy white, extending for miles. Whero shook with -terror at the sight, but Edwin urged him on. They had missed the -shepherds, but they could soon overtake the men now in sight. Yet the -longer they gazed at the huge mass of vapour, the more impenetrable it -seemed. It was drifting slowly northwards, where it merged in another -cloud, black and restless, like smoke. It was but the work of the -winds, stirring the vast deposit of dust covering hill and forest. - -Changed as the face of the country appeared to be, Whero seemed able to -track his way with something of the unerring instinct of the hound. -Emboldened by Edwin's steadier courage, on he went, the gray, drab tint -of the volcanic debris deepening around them at every step, until it lay -nine inches deep on the ground, covering up all trace of vegetation. -The poor cattle wandering in the fields were here absolutely without -food, and the blue waters of the liquid rivulets were changed to a muddy -brown, thick and repulsive. Every footfall of the horse enveloped his -riders in so dense a cloud that eyes were stinging and voices choking, -until they began to exchange this dry deposit for the treacherous, -deadly mud which had preceded it. - -This soon became so thick and sticky poor Beauty could scarcely drag his -legs out again, and their pace grew slower and slower. The time was -going fast; they had scarcely gained a mile in an hour. They dare not -turn aside to view the ruins of Edwin's home. As they went deeper and -deeper into the bush, the blue mud lay fifteen inches thick on all -around. The unrivalled beauty of the forest was gone. The boys could -see nothing but a mass of dirt-laden tree trunks, bending and falling -beneath the weight of their burden. Every leaf was stripped off, and -every branch was broken short. It was a scene of desolation so intense -Whero set up a wild wail of lamentation. All was taken from the Maori -when the wealth of the bush was gone. - -They gained the road; the mud was two feet thick at least, and Beauty -sank knee-deep in the sulphurous, steaming slime. How they got him out -again they hardly knew. They backed him amongst the trees, seeking the -higher ground. Fresh mud-holes had opened in unexpected places, and old -ones had enlarged to boiling pools, and wide areas of smouldering ashes -marked the site of the many fires the lightning had kindled. - -Could the boys have extricated themselves just then, they might have -been tempted to turn back in sheer dismay. They were forced from the -line which Whero had hitherto pursued with the directness which marks -the flight of the crow. The trees were quivering with an earthquake -shock. The hill was trembling visibly beneath their feet. Guided by a -break in the trees, they made their way to the open. Once more the bank -of cloud was visible, drifting slowly to the north; but Whero's eyes -were fastened on the distance, where he knew the lofty Tarawera reared -its threefold crest. - -Had the mighty chieftains of renown arisen from their graves and built a -wall of luminous vapour around their sleeping-place? He quailed in -abject terror at the sight of the clouds, like ramparts rising into the -air for thousands of feet, and veined with wavy lines that glowed and -shimmered with the reflection of the flames they held enshrined. - -"If the arrows of their lightnings burst forth upon us," shrieked Whero, -"how shall such as we escape? Better seek sleep in the cold waters of -the river than fall before the torture of their presence in the boiling -mud and scorching flame." - -Edwin, too, was staggered by the strangeness of the sight. It was the -sense of unprecedented peril, the presence of dangers which no man could -fathom, which overwhelmed him. But he had enough clear-sighted common -sense to perceive the first thing to be guarded against was the frantic -terror of the wilful boy who was guiding him; for Whero, in his -excitement, was urging Beauty to a breakneck speed. But a change -awaited them in the open glade, for there the sun and wind had dried the -surface of the mud, and the clouds of dust settling down upon it had -formed a hard crust. - -Edwin breathed more freely as Whero grew calmer. The horse seemed to -step along with ease at first; but his weight was too great. The crust -gave way beneath him, and they were soon all floundering in a quagmire. -Edwin was flung backwards on a portion of the broken crust, which, like -a floating island, was drifting him across the fissure. Whero clung -round the horse's neck, clutching wildly at his mane. Beauty, with the -intelligence of a fording-horse, pawed through the mud in quest of a -firmer foothold, and found it on the trunk of a buried tree. - -On this vantage-ground, being lightened of half his load, he was -preparing for a spring. At the first movement Whero went over his head, -and Beauty, finding himself his own master, changed his mind. Under any -other circumstances it would have been fun to Edwin to see him feeling -his way along his unseen bridge until he reached the roots of the tree, -which, with the many tons of earth clinging in them, rose at least ten -feet into the air, a solitary hillock around which the mud was -consolidating. Here he took his stand. The boys could see him scraping -away the earth and nibbling at the young green shoots of budding fern -already forcing their way to the upper air. - -Edwin tried to propel his floating island towards the point where Whero -was standing, like a heron, on one leg, trying to scrape the mud from -the other. He edged about this way and that, until at last the boys were -near enough to clasp hands. When he felt the sinewy gripe of his dusky -friend, Edwin took the meditated leap, and broke into the mud by Whero's -side. He went down upon his hands and knees; but Whero grasped the -collar of his jacket, and kept him from sinking. The crust in this -place was nearly a foot thick, and when Edwin regained his equilibrium -the two stepped lightly over it, walking like cats, holding each other's -hands, and balancing themselves as if they were treading on ice, until -they reached a precipitous crag, on which it was impossible for the mud -to rest. Whero began to climb the steep ascent, reaching down a hand to -drag up Edwin after him. They gained a ledge several feet above the -lower ground, and here they paused to recover themselves and look around -for Beauty. It was a pain, a grief to both the boys to abandon him to -his fate. But they dared not shout his name or attract his attention, -for fear he should attempt to cross the treacherous waste which lay -between them. - -To dash the tears from their eyes, to speak as if they "would not care" -when their hearts felt bursting, was useless; and yet they did -it--risking their own necks in a mad desire to rush off where they could -no longer see him, and then returning for a last despairing glance, -until Whero had to own he had lost his way. - -Another vast column of steam hung in mid air, and when it lifted they -could distinguish the gangs of men hard at work, marking the site of -more than one annihilated village. They watched them from afar digging -away the mud in hopes of finding some of the inhabitants alive beneath -it. A mill-sail turning in the wind just showed itself above the -blue-gray mass, and warned them that the depth of the deposit was -increasing steadily as they drew nearer and nearer to the sacred -mountains. That moving sail told Whero where he was. With one hand -shading his eyes he scanned the country round. - -"The pakeha seeks out the pakeha, but no man turns to the Maori pah!" he -exclaimed, stretching his arms towards the wide waste of hateful blue, -and pointing to the foul remains of the crystal lake--the lake by which -he had been born. But where was the ancient whare? where was his home? - -Edwin thought only of crossing to the nearest group of men, throwing -back the mud, right and left, with a desperate energy. He raised his -voice and tried to give the "coo" for help, in the fond hope it might -reach their ears. Whero joined in the outcry, and they stood still, -shouting. But the hollow echo was their sole reply. - -They had wandered wide from the ford, for they were approaching the lake -from the opposite side. - -They sat down on the rocky ledge, and looked at each other in silence. -A call from above startled them. It was a shrill but far-off voice that -was not human. - -Whero, with all a Maori's belief in evil spirits, shook with terror, and -his howling shrieks filled the air and drowned the distant sound. - -"Oh, hush!" entreated Edwin. "Shut up! do, and let us listen." - -They heard it plainly once again--the long-drawn Maori word "Hoke" -(Return, return), followed, in quicker accents, by Whero's name. He -looked up terror-stricken, surveying the rocky steep above their heads, -and gasped out, almost fainting,-- - -"You know not where you are. This hill is tapu, and he who breaks tapu -is sure to die." - -"Bosh!" retorted Edwin. "If you would only speak English I should know -what you mean." - -His arms went round the poor boy, who seemed ready to die, as many a -Maori has died before, of pure fright at the thought of breaking -tapu--that is, touching anything the chief has made sacred. But Edwin -did not understand his dread. - -"Don't be such a coward," he expostulated; "I'll stand by you." - -"Hoke! hoke!" rang out the bird-like voice. "Whero, hoke!" - -The lofty summit of the hill gave back the cry. - -"Go up," urged Edwin. "Some of your people may have taken refuge here. -Whatever you mean by tapu, it can't scare me. You daren't go! then let -me try." - -There was a rift in the scarped side of the hill, where human hands had -cut a foothold here and there, making the ascent possible. Whero crept -along the edge and swung himself over. Edwin crawled after him, and -climbed up with less difficulty than he expected. "Hoke" was piped -above their heads, and Whero's courage failed him once again. He sank -upon a stone, with every nerve quivering. The English boy climbed on, -and found himself at last upon a bit of table-land which from its height -seemed to have escaped the general devastation; for the ground was still -covered with the dried remains of summer vegetation. He passed between -the tree-like ferns until he came upon a spot, bare and dry, without a -sign of a scrap of undergrowth of any kind or at any time. It might -have been about three-quarters of an acre, and was completely arched -over by the inter-woven boughs of four or five gigantic trees, which -even the storm of mud could not penetrate. Edwin gazed at their -majestic trunks, full sixty feet in circumference, ranged around him -like the columns of one of nature's temples, with a kind of awe. - -The ground on which he stood was hard and dusty, and yet he knew, by the -fern and the creeper through which he had reached it, this unusual -clearance was not the work of the eruption. It looked as if it might -have been thus barren for ages. - -The roots of the trees had grown out of the ground, and were twisted and -coiled over and over like a group of mighty serpents transfixed and -fossilized by ancient sorcery. Among them lay the human relics of a -barbarous age. The very stones on which he trod had once been fashioned -by the hand of man. There were axe and spear heads, knives and chisels, -embedded in the fibrous coils; and were they human skulls and bones -which lay there whitening by their side? Edwin recoiled in horror. A -bird flew down from the leafy dome, and alighted near him, renewing its -wailing cry, "Hoke, hoke." Edwin saw by the crimson feathers of its -breast it was a species of macaw--an escaped pet from some of the buried -homes around him. - -He called it a little nervously at first, as if it had dyed its plumage -in the blood of the murdered captives whose bones lay white at his feet. -The bird swooped round, beating the air with its outspread wings, and -darting forward as if it had half a mind to perch upon his outstretched -hand. - -When were Edwin's pockets ever empty? He was feeling in them now for a -few dry crumbs wherewith to tempt the wailing bird. - -It fluttered nearer at the welcome sight, for grain or insects were -nowhere to be found in that place of dearth. It came at last, and -nestled, as it had evidently been taught to nestle by its unknown -master, close against Edwin's cheek. He grasped it by the wings, and -gently smoothed its ruffled feathers. - -"Whero," he shouted, running back with it to the brow of the hill, -"Whero, it is a bird." - -The sound of his own voice seemed to break the spell of horror which had -fallen over him, and he rushed away from serpent root and blighted bough -with which nature herself had written on the hateful spot, "Accursed." - -He no longer wondered that the Maori boy refused to go with him. The -slightest suspicion of impatience and contempt had vanished from his -tone when he spoke again. - -"Look at it, Whero." - -But Whero looked not at the bird, but at his friend. - -"Did you go far?" he asked. - -"Only to the top," answered Edwin. - -"Not to the top," persisted Whero, lowering his voice and whispering -hoarsely. "There is a spot up there, a fatal spot, where the grass -never grows and the air breathes death. Ask me not for more. Come -away." - -He seized Edwin's arm and drew him backwards. The desolate bird shook -itself free, and flew to him with a cry of joy. - -"It is my kaka," he exclaimed, "my own dear redbreast, calling out, -'Return.'" - -"Are you satisfied, Whero?" asked Edwin, in tones of heartfelt sympathy. -"Have we searched far enough? Shall we go back and try to make our way -to the ford or across to the diggers?" - -"Not yet," answered Whero; "I would see the spot where the great hot -stone used to be." - -"It is buried," Edwin went on, "too deep in the mud for us to find, I'm -afraid." - -Whero flung himself on the ground, exclaiming wildly, "All lost! all -gone! why don't you tangi over me?" - -"I would, if it would do you any good; but I don't know how," said -Edwin, bluntly. "We are not sure yet, Whero; your people may have -rushed away in the night as we did. We will hope to the last." - -In his despair Whero had let the kaka fly, and Edwin watched it wheeling -over the space between them and the lake, until it settled down in what -appeared to him to be a hole in the all-pervading mud. - -"He has found something," cried Edwin, hurrying down the steep descent -in a wave of excitement. Whero shrieked after him to stop him; so once -again the boys rested awhile, and ate up the remainder of the bread in -Whero's pockets. It was Edwin's last resource to revive the wild boy's -failing courage, and it partially succeeded. - -"Edwin," he said, "am I alone in the world--the last of the proud race -who owned the fastness in this steep hill-top and the hot stone by -yonder lake? Have I nothing left to me but this awful place where my -grim forefathers held their victory-feast? Will you come and live with -me there?" - -"In that ogre's castle!" exclaimed Edwin, with a shudder. "A moment ago -you dare not follow me to its threshold, and now--" - -"I have been thinking," interrupted Whero, "I must not slight so strange -an omen as the kaka's call. Are the mighty dead using his voice to call -me back (for I should have fled the place); to remind me what I have now -become--a chief of the hills, who can make and unmake tapu as he -pleases? Let us go up and swear to be true to each other for ever and -ever and ever, as my forefathers used to swear on the eve of battle." - -"I will stand by you," said Edwin, earnestly; "on the honour of an -Englishman I will. I'll go down to the lake with you. Better see what -the kaka has found than climb the hill again. Come." - -He put his arm round Whero and began the dangerous descent. A fallen -tree bridged their path. The tremor of an earthquake was beginning. -They flung themselves at once on their faces, for fear they should be -rolled over down the treacherous steep. As Edwin lay resting his arms -against the fallen tree, he scanned once more the break in the muddy -crust round which the kaka was still wheeling. - -What did he see, or what did he fancy he could see at such a distance? -Was it a blackened fragment of pumice-stone the bird was hovering over -with its wailing cry, or was it the quaint old carving on the pointed -roof of Nga-Hepe's whare? Whero's eye was fastened on the spot. Could -he too see it? They were afraid of losing their foothold, as the tree, -like everything else, was covered with the sticky slime, and crawled -along the trunk one after the other, Whero leading the way. It landed -them on the top of the mud-heap, and they walked across the dried crust, -as they had been able to do on the other side. - -The stillness of the desert was around them. Little life of any kind -seemed to have escaped the widespread destruction. A lonely gull had -flown up with the morning breeze, and was pursuing the dead fish across -the lake, as they floated entangled in the drift of the wind-torn -foliage which strewed its surface. - -On they walked, until Whero was satisfied that the dead level they were -crossing must cover the site of the Rota Pah. Even the strong wall -which defended it was buried. Yet it was a wall strong enough and high -enough to resist the attack of English assailants. - -The wintry breezes sweeping over the lake had dried the mud more -thoroughly on this side of the hill. The crust beneath their feet was -thicker and firmer. - -The boys ran lightly across the intervening space. As Whero drew near to -the hole, the bird alighted on his shoulder, and putting its beak to his -ear, exchanged its painful cries for a soft, low, warbling note. - -Edwin was sure now they saw the ridge of the high-peaked roof of -Nga-Hepe's whare. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII.* - - *EDWIN'S DISCOVERY.* - - -Edwin rubbed off the mud from the boss at the point of the gable, and -gazed upon the hideous face, which was neither bird's nor man's, but the -same, the very same, which had attracted his attention when he went with -Nga-Hepe to his home. Edwin looked up. The words upon his lips seemed -to die away in pity for the Maori boy. At last he whispered huskily, -"Whero, there is something here." - -"My home! my home!" was the passionate response, as Whero flung himself -across the ridge and hugged the wooden face as if it were a living -thing. - -Edwin was thinking of all Mr. Bowen's men had said: how the doors and -windows of the ford-house had been blocked by the mud with such rapidity -there was not time for Mr. Hirpington and his people to get away. He -recalled all he had ever heard or read of the frightful colliery -accidents when the miners had been entombed for days, and of cottages -buried beneath an avalanche of snow. A bitter and overwhelming feeling -of self-reproach rose in his heart. "Oh, why did we linger by the way -and follow the bird? We ought to have hurried here at once. O Whero, I -did not realize, I did not half understand. Help me," Edwin went on, for -Whero had begun to raise his howling dirge--"help me to make a hole -through the roof, for fear there should be anybody left inside." - -"Have I come to the hot stone of my fathers to find it a place of -graves?" groaned Whero, pausing in his wail. - -"Mr. Hirpington got away in his boat; your father may have taken to his -canoe," urged Edwin, clinging to hope to cheer his companion. - -A bound, and Whero was up among the leafless boughs of the grand old -trees which had sheltered his home. - -Were the canoes gone? His eye roved along the reedy swamp for each -familiar mooring-place, but all was changed. Mud-banks and shoals -surrounded the murky pool, and his landmarks were gone. Yet more than -one canoe was embedded in the new-made morass, and he cried out in -despair. - -Meanwhile Edwin was tugging at the bulrush thatch with all his might. -As the hole increased with his efforts, he caught the echo of a feeble -sigh. He shouted to Whero, and tore away at the rushes with frantic -desperation. A knock made answer. The wintry day was darkening to its -close, and Edwin felt that the task was beyond him. He could not unroof -the well-built whare, with no fork to help him and single-handed. - -"We must get across the bush somehow, and fetch the men we saw at work -on the other side of the hill." - -But nothing which Edwin could urge could induce Whero to leave the spot. -He sat on the ridge of the roof with the fidelity of a dog, howling and -wailing, only pausing to bury his head in the thatch to listen to the -faint and feeble sounds within. Edwin watched him breathlessly for a -moment or two. They had let in the air through the hole he had made; -but the brief New Zealand twilight would soon be over, and what more -could they do in the darkness of night? He sprang to his feet. "I'm -off, Whero," he shouted. "Trust me, I'll never rest until I get you -better help than mine." - -He ran across the mud. It was growing harder and harder in the keen -frosty air. He knew the wind was blowing from the lake, so that if he -were careful to turn his back to the breeze, he could not lose his way. - -Edwin had almost reached the hill, when he heard a voice "cooing" in the -distance. It was not Whero's. But the swift transition with which night -comes on in New Zealand shrouded him in sudden darkness; and whilst he -waited for the rising of the stars, he heard the shouts drawing nearer, -and gave the answering "coo" with all his might. He could distinguish -the echo of a horse's hoofs on the hardening ground. There was no doubt -about it now, the rider was coming fast. He shouted with renewed -energy; and then the Southern Cross shone out in all its brilliancy, and -the horseman perceived the small dark figure waving both arms in the -air, and galloped towards him. - -In another moment Edwin was grasping hands with his old friend the -coachman. - -"What! you, my lad, up here?" exclaimed Ottley; and as Edwin answered, -the sight of the prancing horse that Ottley was riding shot a pain -through his heart. It was so like his own beloved Beauty, abandoned on -his little islet in that sea of mud. - -The tears came rushing into Edwin's eyes, until he could see no more. -He tried to answer. The horse had turned its head to listen with quick, -impatient movements, until it fairly rubbed its nose against Edwin's -shoulder. - -His arms went round its arching neck with a cry of delight. It was his -own, his own, own Beauty. - -"Yes," said Ottley, "I knew him again. I supposed he had strayed, for I -came upon him standing shivering against such shelter as the roots of an -upturned tree could afford him. He was not difficult to catch, and he -has brought me on. I got my coach along some miles beyond Cambridge, -and found the way completely blocked, so I have left it there, and come -to give what help I could. I can spare the time it would have taken me -to reach the end of my route. I have been working with a party of -diggers at Te Wairoa. Then I determined to come across and see how it -fared with my old friend at the ford, and now I find you wandering -alone. Come, get up behind me. It is not the first time you and I have -crossed these wilds together." - -"Oh no," answered Edwin; "and I want you worse than even then. You must -come with me at once to the help of the Maori chief. We have found him -buried alive, with his whole family, beneath this awful mud--but I think -not yet quite dead. I feel as if God had sent you here to save them." - -Then Edwin poured out his story, and explained how he had encountered -Whero, and how they had come on together to find their fathers. - -Whilst he was yet speaking Ottley alighted. "Take your horse, lad," he -said, "and ride as fast as you can; the mud will bear you now. As soon -as you get to the brow of that hill, you will see the camp-fire of the -diggers in the distance. Make that your guide. You will find them by -that in the night when you could not have found your way in the daylight -and the dust. Trust to Beauty to avoid the boiling jets; they are -opening everywhere. You can give this message from me to the first -party of diggers you come to. Tell them I want help badly, by the lake. -Be a brave lad, and remember that more lives than we can reckon are -depending on your speed." - -Then Ottley took out his match-box, and sharing its contents with Edwin, -charged him, if he happened to lose his way or meet with any obstacle he -could not pass, to choose a dry tree and set it on fire. "The blaze -will be seen for miles through the leafless forest, and will be sure to -bring you help," he added, as he put the boy on the horse and set off at -a swinging pace towards the buried whare, over which the kaka was still -hovering. - -The emergency was so great, Edwin felt himself beyond all personal fear, -which might have daunted him at any other time had he been obliged to -ride alone in the night through those desolate wilds. He patted -Beauty's neck, and heartened himself up with the thought of the eternal -presence of the Unseen, ever ready, ever near to help and guide, giving -strength in weakness and light in darkness. When will, desire, and -trust meet in one point, that point is faith, the strongest power within -the human breast. It upheld Edwin, worn and weary as he was, in that -lonely ride. He had cleared the rising ground. The camp-fire glimmered -in the distance; but Beauty, who had had neither food nor water since -the morning, began to flag. Then Edwin remembered Ottley's charge, and -looked about for a dry tree. - -He found one smouldering still, in the midst of a scorched circle--the -dying remains of a bush fire, kindled by the lightning on the night of -the eruption. - -He gathered up the charred branches fallen around it, and fanned the -glowing embers to a flame. One of the incessant earthquake shocks -scattered his fire just as he had got it to burn. He did his work over -again. The blaze roared up into the midnight sky. He tied Beauty to a -tree at a little distance, and sat down before his fire, thankful for -the momentary rest. He could have fallen asleep. He was afraid that he -might do so unawares, for he felt he was succumbing to the genial -warmth. The change was too great after being exposed for so many hours -to the chill of the night, and he fainted. - -When Edwin came to himself he was lying under canvas. A cup was held to -his lips by some unknown hand, and as he tasted its warm contents, voice -came back to him. He asked feebly, "Where am I? I can't remember." - -"Never mind then, my boy," said his rough nurse, in kindly tones which -were not altogether strange. "You are with those who will take care of -you to the last. There, sleep, and forget your troubles." - -"Sleep!" repeated Edwin, starting up. "What business have I with sleep -when Mr. Ottley sent me with a message?" - -"Ottley! who is Ottley?" asked another voice. - -"The coachman fellow who helped us at Te Wairoa," answered the first -speaker. - -Edwin roused himself, saying earnestly,-- - -"He wants you to go to his help. He wants help badly by the lake amid -the hills." - -"Where is that?" asked the men of each other. - -"I'll guide you," said Edwin. "I'll show you the way." - -"Not you," they answered simultaneously. "You just lie here and sleep -in safety. Some of the other fellows will know. That will be all -right." - -As they laid him back on the blanket, Edwin saw in the dim, uncertain -light the rough sleeve of a blue jacket. - -"What! surprised to meet us here, my boy?" said the voice, which he now -knew to be the captain's. "Though our feet were sore with dragging over -the oyster-bed, we went back with Feltham's shepherds. When we saw your -fire flash up against the night sky, says some of the fellows, 'That is -a signal,' and off they went to see, and when they brought you into camp -I knew you in a moment." - -Edwin grasped the horny hand held out to him with a smile. - -"Where is my horse?" he asked. - -"Tethered outside; but there is not a bit of food to give him--no, not a -single bite. But lie still and sleep and eat yourself, and in a few -hours you will be all right." - -When Edwin waked again it was daylight. A piece of camping-out bread -and a cup of water stood beside him, but every man was gone. - -He took the breakfast they had provided, and walked to the door of the -tent eating his bread. There was no one in sight but Beauty, looking -very wretched for want of food. Edwin broke the crumb from his piece of -bread, and carried it to him. - -"We will go shares, old fellow," he said, patting him, "and then you -will carry me to father. - - 'What must be, must; - But you shall have crumb, - If I have crust.'" - - -He looked about the tent, and found a small pail. The hiss and splash of -bubbling water guided him to the geyser. He knew the men would not have -put up their tent unless there had been a spring at hand. He filled his -pail with the boiling water, and left it to cool for Beauty's benefit. -Still he thought they could not be very far off, or they would not have -left their tent. But he was afraid to waste time looking about him. -Some of the party had no doubt remained behind. He longed to follow the -captain, and go back to Ottley and Whero, for when their work was over -by the lake he knew they would help him to find his father. Edwin found -a charred stick where the men had made their camp fire. He wrote with -it on a piece of bark:-- - -"Good-bye, and thanks to all kind friends. I am going back to -Ottley.--EDWIN LEE." - -Then he gave poor Beauty his water, and started off for the Rota Pah. -He was trusting to the horse's sagacity. "If I give him the rein," he -thought, "he is safe to take the road to his old home." - -But no brief spell of sleep, with its blessed forgetfulness, had come to -Whero. He had kept his lonely vigil on the tumbled thatch, chanting his -mournful dirge until the echoes rang. There, with the starshine -overhead, and that strange cloud through which the fire still flashed -rising like a wall between him and the sacred hills, he felt himself -abandoned by earth and heaven. But his despair had reached its climax. -The help which Edwin had gone to seek was nearer than he thought. A -long, dark shadow was thrown across the star-lit ground, and Ottley -hastened towards him, exclaiming,-- - -"Stop that howling. Be a man, and help me. We'll soon see if there is -any one alive beneath that thatch." - -He found himself a pole among the broken arms of the trees, and set to -work tearing away the thatch until the starlight waned, and the darkest -hour of all the night put a stop to his efforts. - -But in many places the roof was stripped to its rafters, so that the -cold night breeze could enter freely. Whero was gathering the heaps of -dusty rush which Ottley had flung off to make a fire. The cheery flames -leaped upward, but were far too evanescent to do more than give a -glimpse into the interior of the whare. But Ottley saw something in the -dark corner of the room like a white dress, fluttering in the admitted -gust. Could it be the thin white sheet in which Kakiki had chosen to -disguise himself? - -Brief as the blaze had been, it had served as a beacon to guide the -captain and his mates to the spot with their spades and bill-hooks. To -chop away the beam, to build a more substantial fire with the splintered -wood, was easy now. Whero leaped through the hole, and reappeared with -his mother in his arms. The captain swung himself down after him, -directed by Ottley to "that something white in the corner." He dragged -it forward--a senseless burden. A spade full of ice from above was -dashed into the unconscious face of the aged chieftain resting on his -shoulder. As Kakiki Mahane opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was -the well-remembered face of Ottley looking down upon him, and the first -thing he heard was the heartfelt murmur which ran through the little -group above, "In time! thank God, in time!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII.* - - *FEEDING THE HUNGRY.* - - -As Edwin crossed the desolated bush, the morning sun lit up the -marvellous cloud-banks with a flush of pink and gold that held him -spell-bound with the strangeness of the sight, until the dust-drift -before him began to tremble visibly with an earthquake shock. He was -not wrong in his estimate of Beauty's intelligence, but the weary horse -poked his head forward and walked languidly. Edwin avoided the hill -where he had found the kaka. He shrank from the gruesome spot even by -daylight. - -He was trying to find a safe pathway to the lake, when he saw Ottley -walking rapidly towards him. He waved his arm to the boy to stop. As -they drew near to each other, Edwin almost shuddered, expecting to hear -nothing but ill news. He was bitterly reproaching himself for not -having asked the captain if he had heard anything of his father. - -But Ottley shouted out "Well met" in a cheery tone, adding dryly, "I -hope you got some breakfast at the camp, for on this side of the bush it -is very hard to find. We have been at it all night. Nga-Hepe has not -yet come round; but Marileha is saved, and her white-haired father too. -We have done what we could, with nothing to help us but the keen frosty -air and muddy water. Now we must have food, for most of the villagers -from the Rota Pah had taken refuge with them. The mud slipped off the -sloping roof of Nga-Hepe's whare when half the huts in the pah lay -crushed beneath its weight. I am going to the ford to see if Hirpington -has come back to his place. He kept a full store-room at all times." - -"O Mr. Ottley," exclaimed Edwin, "let me go too, for father may be with -him." - -"No, he is not, my boy," returned Ottley, compassionately. "He was the -first in the field, and did wonders. He has been hurt by a falling -tree, but an old fellow they call Hal is taking care of him in one of -the tents. I'll show you where." - -"Show me at once," entreated Edwin. "I must go to father first, -wherever he is. I have been such a very long while trying to find him. -Is it very far from here?" - -"No," answered Ottley; "but you must wait until I can take you there. -You had better come with me now, and get some food for your father -whilst I can give it to you. If Hirpington has not come back, we must -dig into the house and help ourselves, and reckon the pay when we meet." - -"Please, Mr. Ottley," burst in Edwin, "tell me all about father. Is he -much hurt?" - -"My boy," exclaimed Ottley, "I know no more than you do; but if he is -roughing it, as our fellows do up there alone, better wait and see what -I can find." - -Edwin felt the force of this reasoning, and said no more. Ottley laid -his hand on Beauty's rein, and walked beside him. - -Suddenly Edwin looked up, exclaiming, "This is Sunday morning!" - -"And a strange Sunday it is," answered Ottley, somewhat dreamily, as his -thoughts went back to Sundays long ago, bringing with them an echo of -the church-going bells, to which his ear had so long been a stranger. -"Sunday up country in New Zealand," he went on, "is little beside a -name, except to those who can hear the sermon of the stones and read the -books--" - -"In the running brooks," added Edwin; "and good in everything. But is -it so?" - -"Nature's voices have been speaking in tones to which all must listen," -continued Ottley. "Yet the Lord was not in the earthquake and the -storm, but in the still small voice." - -His words were slow and grave, so unlike his usual tones Edwin listened -in silence, and in silence they approached the ford. Even Beauty's -footsteps were inaudible, for the mud by the river had not dried as fast -as elsewhere. - -The boy's heart was heavy with apprehension as he looked up, expecting -to see the familiar gate; but not one trace of post or gate remained. -The acacia tree in which the lamp used to hang was riven asunder. The -grassy mound and the gorse hedge were gone. The road had been raised by -the mud and dust to the level of the farm-yard wall. Almost without -knowing they did so, they went straight over it, and found themselves -even with the window of the hay-loft. The roof of the house was crushed -in, and its doors and windows banked up with mud. As they looked round -at it, Edwin pointed to the hole his father must have made when he -extricated his friend's family. A man was getting out of it at the -moment. They stood quite still and watched him draw up a full sack -after him. - -"There is some one before us on the same errand," said Edwin; but Ottley -hushed him without replying. - -The man looked round as Edwin's voice broke the profound stillness. -Ottley shouted to him, "Wait where you are, mate, and I will come to -your help." - -The coachman knew if the man were on honest work intent he would gladly -accept his offer, for the sack was so full he could hardly move it. But -he thought, if the fellow is a thief, he will try to get rid of me. -Ottley turned to Edwin, saying carelessly, with the air of one at home -in the place, "You will find some hay for your horse inside that window. -Give him a good feed, whilst I look round and see if all is safe." - -He was speaking loud enough for the man to hear him. He was trying to -make the fellow understand that he was there to protect Mr. Hirpington's -property. He left Edwin to feed his horse, and walked quickly across the -heaps of mud Mr. Lee had shovelled away from the window nearest to the -water. - -The man had let the sack drop, and now stood idly on the main beam, -which had not been displaced, as if he too were surveying the extent of -the mischief. Ottley leaped across and stood beside him, observing, "The -colonists are everywhere returning to their homes. The general opinion -seems to be that the danger is over. Hirpington may be expected any -minute. I came over to help him." - -The men stood looking at each other, and Edwin recognized the fellow on -the roof. It was the rabbiter who had spoken to him in the dark when he -thought no one could hear him but his father. - -"O Mr. Ottley," he called out, "it is one of the rabbiters who came to -our help." - -"And are you the farmer's son?" asked the man, descending from the roof -to speak to him. - -Edwin was feeling very grateful to the rabbiters. Hal was nursing his -father, and he looked on them as friends. So when the man approached -and asked him what he had come to the ford for he answered him freely, -explaining all that had happened since they parted. Edwin ended his -account with the dismaying intelligence, "Mr. Ottley says there is no -food to be had--nothing to give the poor Maoris to eat--so we have come -to look if we can find any food among these ruins." - -"No harm in that," returned the man quickly. "We are all on the same -errand." - -These were Edwin's own words, and he smiled, not knowing anything of -Ottley's suspicion that the man was bent on plunder. The rabbiter -walked off, and they saw no more of him. - -Ottley continued his examination of the premises. The house to the -river-side was not greatly damaged. If the roof were repaired, Mr. -Hirpington could inhabit it again, and clear away the mud from the -garden side at his leisure. But Ottley had no idea where his friend had -taken refuge. He could send him no warning to return and see after his -property. The window of the store-room looked to the river. As he went -round to examine it, he found the old ford-horse wading about in the -water, cropping at the weeds which grew on its margin. When Dunter let -him loose--for no power on earth could make him travel on land--he swam -down stream, and returned to his beloved ford, which he had crossed and -recrossed several times, for his own gratification. Ottley called him -out of the water, and led him round to share the hay with Beauty. He -was anxious about his own coach-horses, for whose benefit the store of -hay had been provided. They were gone. Probably Mr. Hirpington had -opened the stable-doors at the first shock of earthquake. The hay was -his own, and he told Edwin to tie up a bundle and take it away with him -for Beauty. He was glad to see the man had gone off quietly, and said -no more about him. He saw no occasion to put Edwin on his guard, as he -was going to take him back to his father directly. He had not much -faith in any boy's discretion, and he thought he might talk about the -man to Hal. - -Ottley knew well, when there were so many abandoned homes and so many -homeless wanderers, what was sure to follow. "But," he said to himself, -"this state of things will not last many days; yet a lot of mischief may -be done, and how is the property to be protected? Life must stand -first. A good dog would guard the ruins, but Hirpington's must all have -followed their master." - -He crawled into the hay-loft and pulled out a tarpaulin, which, with -Edwin's assistance, he spread over the broken roof, and fastened as -securely as he could, to keep out the weather and other depredators. -Then he cut away the lattice of the store-room window with his -pocket-knife, until he had cleared a space big enough for Edwin to slip -through. - -"This feels like house-breaking," said the boy with a laugh, as his feet -found a resting-place on Mrs. Hirpington's chopping-block, and he drew -in his head and stood upright. - -"Ah! but it is not," returned Ottley gravely. "All this is accommodation -provided for my 'coach,' and paid for. It will be all right between me -and Hirpington. If anybody talks of following in our steps, tell them -what I say. Now hand me up that cheese, and the ham on the opposite -shelf, and look if there is a round of beef in salt. There should be -bovril and tea and sugar somewhere. We may want those for your father. -Now for the flour!" - -Edwin undid the window from the inside, but he could not lift a sack of -flour. He handed up a biscuit-tin, and pound after pound of coffee, -until Ottley began to think they had as much as they could carry away. -Like a careful housekeeper, Mrs. Hirpington kept the door of her -store-room locked, so they could not get through to the kitchen to find -the bacon. Where Mrs. Hirpington kept her bread was a puzzle. Then -Ottley remembered there was another pantry; but they could not get at -it. He discovered two great baskets in the loft, used in the -fruit-gathering. He slung them over Beauty's back, and filled them full. -Edwin got out of the window again, and shut it after him. Mrs. -Hirpington's pastry-board was converted into a temporary shutter. But -as all Ottley's fastenings had to be done on the outside, they could -also be undone if any one were so minded. Yet this consideration could -not weigh against the starving people by the lake. Ottley pulled the -hay still in the loft close up to the window, which they left open, so -that the old forder could help himself. Then they attempted once again -to cross the bush. Poor Beauty was terribly annoyed by his panniers. He -conceived the wild idea of rolling over on the ground, to get rid of -them. But Ottley promptly circumvented all such attempts. As for the -load of hay on his back, Beauty was decidedly of opinion the best way to -free himself from that was to eat it up. Edwin contented him with an -occasional handful, and much patting and coaxing to soothe his ruffled -temper. - -It was the middle of the day before they reached Nga-Hepe's whare, which -the kindly band of excavators had so expeditiously unroofed. When their -work was over in that direction, they had dug into the mud heaps which -marked the site of the Rota Pah, and many a poor Maori had been lifted -into light and air. - -Some of the inhabitants of the village had rushed out at the first -alarm, and had escaped in their canoes; others had taken refuge in -Nga-Hepe's strongly-built whare; but many had perished beneath their -falling roofs. - -The captain and his mates had bent all their energies to the task. They -had shovelled away the mud from the council-hall, which was also, -according to Maori custom, the sleeping-room of the tribe. Here they -found men, women, and children huddled together, for the stronger beam -of its roof had not yet given way under the weight of the mud. They had -carried the survivors to the fire on the bank of the lake, and left them -in Whero's care, to await Ottley's return with the food. There was -nothing more that the captain and his companions could do here. But -other lives might yet be saved elsewhere; and they hurried back to the -help of the comrades they had abandoned when Ottley's message reached -them. - -The natives, swathed in their mats and blankets, were lying in groups on -the frozen mud, still gasping and groaning, suffering as much from -terror as from physical exhaustion. But the rich men of the tribe, who -may always be known by some additional bit of European clothing, were -not among them. - -The aged patriarch Kakiki, who had been among the first to rally, had -raised himself on his elbow, and was asking eager questions about them. - -"Where is Pepepe? Hopo-Hopo where? Are there none to answer?" he -demanded, gazing at the dazed faces around him. "Then will I tell you. -They are struck by the gods in their anger. Who are the gods we -worship? who but the mighty ones of the tribe--men whose anger made the -brave tremble even here on earth. Who then can hope to stand against -their anger in the dwelling of the gods? Is not Hepe the terrible one -foremost among them? Did ye at all appease him when ye sent the tana to -a son of his race? See his vengeance on Pepepe! He lies dead in the -pah, he who proposed it. Who shall carry up his bones to the sacred -mountain, that he may sleep with his fathers? The gods will have none -of him, for has he not eaten up their child? Ye who brought hunger to -this whare, in this place has hunger found you. Ye left Nga-Hepe naught -but a roof to shelter him; he has naught but that shelter to give you -now. As the lightning shrivels up the fern, so shame shall shrivel up -the tongue which asks of him the food of which ye have robbed him." - -He ceased speaking as Ottley came in sight. Whero was hidden among the -reeds, filling a pail he had exhumed with the muddy water from the lake. -Four or five of the other Maoris staggered to their feet and intercepted -the horse, clamouring and snatching at the food in its panniers. They -had eaten nothing since the night of the eruption. The supply Ottley -had brought looked meagre and poor amongst so many, and whilst he -promised every man a share, he steadily resisted all their attempts to -help themselves until he came up with the little cluster of women and -children cowering between the heaps of thatch, when a dozen hands were -quickly tearing out the contents of the baskets. - -Old Konga seized a stick and tried to beat them off, while Marileha -stood behind her imploring her old friends to remember her famishing -babes. - -Edwin was pushed down, but he scrambled up and ran to meet Whero, as -Kakiki Mahane rose slowly from the ground and laid a detaining hand upon -the horse's mane. "Who fights with starving men?" he exclaimed, and the -stick fell from Ronga's hand in mute obedience. - -"What is the matter?" asked Whero, as the boys stood face to face. -"There is trouble in your eyes, my brother--a trouble I do not share." - -"Ottley has promised to take me on to father; the time is flying, and he -cannot get away," said Edwin. - -Whero's cheek was rubbed softly against his, a word was whispered -between them, and Whero went round to where his own father lay groaning -on the ground, leaving his pail behind him. "Father, father, rouse -yourself," he entreated, "or the men of the pah will tear the kind -coachman to pieces!" - -Edwin caught up the pail and threw away the muddy water which Whero had -taken such pains to reach, but no vexation at the sight brought the -slightest cloud to his dusky face. - -"Throw me that tin of coffee," shouted Edwin to the resolute Ottley, who -was dividing the food so that every one should have a share, according -to his promise. - -The desired tin came flying through the air. Edwin emptied its contents -into his pail. "Whoever wants coffee," he cried, "must fill this at the -geyser." - -Nga-Hepe lifted his head from the ground where he had been lying, -apparently taking no notice, and said something to his wife. She moved -slowly amidst the group until she reached her old friend the coachman. -"Go," she whispered. "The boiling spring is choked by the mud. The men -are scattering to find another. Go before they return. In their hearts -they love you not as we do. Go!" - -He put the remainder of his stores into her hands, sprang upon Beauty, -and caught up Edwin behind him. They looked back to the old man and the -children, and waved their hands in farewell, taking nothing away with -them but the bovril and the tea in Edwin's pocket. - -They rode on in silence until they felt themselves beyond the reach of -the excited crowd. Both were looking very grave when at last they -reached the tent where Mr. Lee was lying. The lowering skies betokened -a change of weather. - -"Rain," said Ottley, looking upwards; "but rain may free us from this -plague of dust." - -Hal, who had heard their steps approaching, came out to meet them. -Whilst he was speaking to Ottley, Edwin slipped off the horse and ran -into the tent. He found his father lying on the ground, apparently -asleep. He knelt down beside him and listened to his heavy breathing. -The dreamy eyes soon opened and fastened on his face. - -"Don't you know me, father?" asked Edwin, taking the hand which hung -down nervelessly in both of his. - -"Where are the little ones?" asked Mr. Lee. - -"Safe by this time with Mr. Bowen's grandson, father," answered Edwin. -But the reply was hardly spoken when the dreamy eyelids closed, and Mr. -Lee was fast asleep again. - -Edwin looked out of the door of the tent, where the men were still -talking. - -"If it had not been for those surveying fellows," Hal was saying, "who -hurried up from the south with their camp, what should I have done? -They lent me this tent and gave me some bread." - -"Where are they?" asked Edwin, glancing round. "I want to thank them -all." - -"Why, lad," exclaimed Hal, "they are miles away from here now. They say -the mud has fallen from Taheka to Wairoa. Not your little bit of a -place, but a big village. We've lots of Wairoas; it is a regular Maori -name." - -"Yes," added Ottley, "they have gone on; for the mud has fallen heavy -for ten miles round the mountain--some declare it is a hundred feet deep -at Te Ariki--and there may be other lives to save even now." - -"Ah, but you have done a bad day's work, I fear," persisted the old -rabbiter. "You have brought back to life a dangerous neighbour; which -may make it hardly safe for us to stay where we are. His people will -follow the horse's tracks, and come and eat up all my little hoard; and -how can an old man like me defend himself? They would soon knock me -over, and what would become of poor Lee? He will sleep himself right if -we can let him lie still where he is; but if these Maoris come -clamouring round us, it will be all over with him." - -Edwin grew so white as he overheard this, Ottley urged him to go back to -his father and rest whilst they lit a fire and prepared the tea. - -He gave Beauty his feed of hay, and gathering up the remainder he took -it in with him, to try to make his father a better bed than the old rug -on which he was lying. - -It would be a bad day's work indeed if it were to end as Hal predicted. -He trembled as he slipped the hay beneath his father's head, wondering -to find him sleeping undisturbed in the midst of such calamities as -these. "If he could only speak to me!" he groaned. - -He had found at last one quiet Sunday hour, but how could he have knelt -down to pray that night if he had refused to help Whero? His fears were -for his father, but he laid them down. Had he to live this day over -again to-morrow he would do the same. His heart was at rest once more, -and he fell asleep. - -He was wakened by Hal and Ottley coming inside the tent. It was raining -steadily. There was no such thing as keeping a fire alight in the open. -The tea had been hastily brewed. It was none the better for that; but -such as it was, they were thankful for it. They roused up Edwin to have -his share. It was so dark now he could scarcely see the hand which held -the cup. Hal spread the one or two remaining wraps he had, and prepared -for the night. They all lay down for a few hours' sleep. Edwin was the -nearest to his father. - -The two men were soon snoring, but Edwin was broad awake. Mr. Lee moved -uneasily, and threw aside the blanket which covered him. Edwin bent -over him in a moment. - -"Is there anything I can do for you, father?" he said. - -Mr. Lee was feeling about in the blanket. "Where is my belt?" he asked. - -Edwin did not say a word to rouse the other sleepers; but although it -was perfectly dark, he soon satisfied himself the belt was gone. - -It was a wash-leather belt, in which Mr. Lee had quilted his money for -safety. Edwin knew it well. He realized in a moment what a loss it -would be to his father if this were missing. Hal had set Mr. Lee's leg -with splints of bark; whilst he was doing this he might have taken off -the belt. Perhaps it would be found in a corner of the tent when it was -light. Edwin felt he must mind what he said about it to Hal, who was -taking such care of his father. He saw that more clearly than anything -else. - -No; he would only tell Ottley, and with this decision he too fell -asleep. - -He was so tired out, so worn, so weary, that he slept long and heavily. -When he roused it was broad daylight, and Ottley, whose time was up, had -departed. Hal had made a fire, and was preparing a breakfast of tea. He -agreed to save the bovril Edwin had brought for his father alone. - -They made a hole in the floor of the tent, not deep enough to break the -crust of the mud, and lined it with bark. Here they kept the little -jar, for fear any of the Maoris should see it, if they came across to -beg for food. - -Whilst the two were drinking their tea and watching the lowering clouds, -which betokened more rain, the other rabbiter whom Ottley had surprised -in the ford-house strolled out from among the leafless trees and invited -himself to a share. Edwin and Hal, who knew he needed it as much as -they did, felt it would indeed be selfish to refuse him a breakfast. - -As they sat round the fire Hal took counsel with his mate, and talked -over the difficulties of their position. - -Ottley had promised to try to send them help to remove Mr. Lee to a -safer place. But Hal, who was expecting one of those torrents of rain -which mark a New Zealand winter, feared they might be washed away before -that help arrived. - -Lawford--as he called his mate--was of the same opinion, and offered, if -Edwin would accompany him, to go across to the ford-house and see if the -Hirpingtons had returned. - -This seemed the most hopeful thought of all, and Edwin brightened as he -ran off to catch Beauty. - -He had left his father comfortably pillowed in the hay, which he had -made to serve a double purpose, but he was now obliged to pull a bit -away for the horse's breakfast. - -As he started with Lawford, Hal called after them to be sure to wrench -off a shutter or a loose bit of board. They must bring back something -on which poor Mr. Lee could be laid, to move him. - -Beauty trotted off briskly. After a while Lawford looked over his -shoulder at Edwin, who was riding behind him, and said shortly, "Now we -are safe, I have something to tell you." - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV.* - - *RAIN AND FLOOD.* - - -Edwin felt a cold shiver run over him as Lawford made this announcement. - -"Something to tell me!" he exclaimed. "Oh, please speak out!" - -"Do you see those spades?" replied Lawford, halting beside a tree, -against which two spades were leaning. "Whero has sent them to you. He -wants you to show me where he buried that bag of treasure. I am to dig -it up and take it to Nga-Hepe. He means to use it now to buy food for -the people about him. You know the place: it is between the two white -pines by the roadside. As soon as Nga-Hepe has got his money, he will -row down the river in his canoe and bring it back with a load of bacon -and flour, and whatever he can get in the nearest township." - -This seemed so natural to Edwin he never doubted it was true. There -were the spades, just like the two he had seen in the whare. - -"Oh yes," he answered, "I can find the place. I saw the trees only -yesterday." - -"Nga-Hepe sent you a charge," added Lawford, "to mind and keep a still -tongue; for if it gets air whilst he's gone for the food, there will be -such a crowd waiting for the return of the canoe, it would be eaten up -at a single meal, and his own children would be starving again." - -"I shall not speak," retorted Edwin. "Nga-Hepe may safely trust me." - -They reached the road at last, and made their way along it as before, -until they came to the two tall tapering trunks--not quite so easily -identified now they had lost their foliage. - -"This is the spot!" cried Edwin, slipping off the horse, and receiving a -descent of mud upon his shoulders as he struck the dirt-laden tree. - -Lawford gave him the spades he was carrying, and got down. They tied -Beauty at a safe distance, and set to work. It was comparatively easy -digging through the crust, but when they reached the soft mud beneath -it, as soon as they cleared a hole it filled again. - -Their task seemed endless. "I don't believe we can get at the money," -said Edwin, in despair. "I must go on and see if Mr. Hirpington has -returned, for I want to get back to father." - -"All right," answered Lawford. "Leave me at the work. A boy like you -soon tires. Take your horse and ride down to the ford; but mind you do -not say anything about me." - -"You need not fear that," repeated Edwin, as he extricated himself from -the slime-pit they had opened, and mounted Beauty. It was not very far -to the ford, but he found it as he had left it--desolate and deserted. -No one had been near it since yesterday, when he visited it with Ottley. -The good old forder neighed a welcome, and came trotting up from the -river-bank to greet him. He pulled out more hay to feed both horses, -and whilst they were eating he examined the house. - -The river was swollen with last night's rain. It had risen to the top -of the boating-stairs. Once more the house was standing in a muddy -swamp, from which the tall fuchsia trees looked down disconsolate on the -buried garden. It was past anybody's power to get at the store-room -window. In short, the river had taken possession, and would effectually -keep out all other intruders. - -Edwin chose himself a seat among the ruins, and turned out his pockets -in quest of a little bit of pipe-clay which once found a lodging amongst -their heterogeneous contents. He wrote with the remaining corner, which -he was happy enough to find had not yet crumbled to dust, "Lee, senior, -waiting by lake, badly hurt, wants food and help." - -He had fixed upon the shutter of the hay-loft window for his tablet, and -made his letters bold and big enough to strike the eye at a considerable -distance. He tried to make them look as if some man had written them, -thinking they would command more attention. Then he hunted about for -the piece of loose board Hal had charged them to bring back. - -Edwin wrenched it off from the front of the hayloft, and discovered a -heap of mangel-wurzel in the corner. He snatched up one and began to -eat it, as if he were a sheep, and then wondered if he had done right. -But he felt sure Ottley would say yes. - -He balanced the board on his head, but found it impossible to mount -Beauty, and equally difficult to make him follow a master with head-gear -of such an extraordinary size. So he had to drive Beauty on before him, -and when he reached the white pines Lawford was gone. - -"He ought to have waited for me," thought Edwin, indignantly. "How can -I get across the bush with this board? The men care nothing about me; -they drive me along or they leave me behind to follow as I can, just as -it happens. It is too bad, a great deal too bad!" - -Beauty heard the despairing tone, and turning softly round, tilted the -board backwards in spite of Edwin's efforts to stop him. - -There was no such thing as getting it into position again. All Edwin -could do was to mark the spot and leave it lying on the ground. Then he -jumped on Beauty and trotted off to the tent, for the rain which Hal had -predicted was beginning fast. The sodden canvas flapped heavily in the -storm-wind. The tent-poles were loosened in the softened mud, and -seemed ready to fall with every gust, as Edwin rode up disheartened and -weary, expecting to find Lawford had arrived before him. No such thing. -Hal was worn out with waiting, and was very cross. - -It is only the few who can stand through such days of repeated disaster -with patience and temper unexhausted. There has been some schooling in -adversity before men attain to that. Edwin was taking his lesson early -in life, but he had not learned it yet. - -Hal would have it Edwin had lost himself, and called him a young fool -for not sticking close to his companion, who was no doubt looking for -him. - -He started off in high dudgeon to "coo" for Lawford, and bring on the -board Edwin had left by the way. - -Father and son were alone. The rain pouring through the tent seemed to -rouse Mr. Lee to consciousness. - -"I am hurt, Edwin," he said; "yet not so much as they think. But is -there not any place of shelter near we can crawl into? This rain will -do me more harm than the fall of the tree. If this state of things -continues, we shall be washed away into the mud." - -Edwin's heart was aching sorely when Hal returned with the board. Mr. -Lee looked up with eyes which told them plainly the clouded -understanding was regaining its power. - -The old man saw it with pleasure, He knew even better than Mr. Lee that -the steady rain was changing the mud to swamp. They must lose no time -in getting away, at least to firmer ground. - -He was looking about him for the nearest hill. He had made his plan; but -he wanted Lawford's help to carry it out. - -"He will come back soon," said Edwin confidently, feeling pretty sure -Lawford had gone across to the lake to give Nga-Hepe his bag. - -Hal was more puzzled than ever at his mate's disappearance, and again he -wanted to know why the two had parted company. Edwin was so downhearted -about his father, and so badgered by Hal's questionings and upbraidings, -he knew not what to say or do. - -Hal wrapped Mr. Lee in the blanket, and with Edwin's assistance laid him -on the board. It was a little less wet than the sodden ground. He -bound him to it with the cord which had tied up Beauty's hay. - -"There," he said, as he pulled the last knot tight, "we can lift you now -without upsetting my splints. They are but a bungling affair, master; -but bad is the best with us." - -Try as Edwin would he was not strong enough to lift the board from the -ground. The old man saw it too, and pushed him aside impatiently. - -"See what you have brought on us all," he said, or rather muttered. - -"I could not help it," repeated Edwin bitterly; "but I don't mind -anything you say to me, Hal, for you have stuck by father and cared for -him, when he would have died but for you. Don't despair; I'll go and -look for Lawford." - -"You!" returned Hal contemptuously; "you'll lose yourself." - -But Edwin, who thought he could guess where Lawford was to be found, -could not be turned from his purpose. - -"Can't I cross the bush once more, for father's sake," he asked, "whilst -I have got my horse?" He called up Beauty and told him to go home. Edwin -found the whare by the lake deserted. After his abrupt departure with -Ottley, Nga-Hepe had roused himself to assist his father-in-law in -making an equal distribution of the food; and then they gathered the men -around the fire and held a council. - -With two such leaders as Nga-Hepe and Kakiki, they reached the wise -decision to seek a safer place beyond the anger of the gods, and build a -temporary kainga, or unwalled village, where food was to be obtained, -where the fern still curled above the ground, and the water gushed pure -from the spring. The men of the pah yielded as they listened to the -eloquent words of the aged chief; and though they passed the night in -speechifying until the malcontents were overawed, the morning found them -hard at work digging out their canoes. - -As Edwin approached the lake he saw the little fleet cautiously steering -its way through the mud-shoals and boulders towards the river. - -The wind was moaning through the trees, and the unroofed whare was -filling with the rains. - -While Edwin surveyed the desolate scene, he perceived a small canoe -coming swiftly towards his side of the lake. He watched it run aground -amongst the bent and broken reeds, swaying hither and thither in the -stormy wind. Suddenly he observed a small, slight figure wading -knee-deep through the sticky slime. It was coming towards him. - -A bird flew off from its shoulder, and the never-to-be-forgotten sound -of "Hoke" rang through the air. - -"Whero, Whero!" shouted Edwin joyfully; and turning Beauty's head he -went to meet him. - -But Whero waved him back imperiously; for he knew the horse could find -no foothold in the quagmire he was crossing. He was leaping now like a -frog, as Edwin averred; but there are no frogs in New Zealand, so Whero -could not understand the allusion as Edwin held out his hand to help him -on. Then the kaka, shaking the water from his dripping wings, flew -towards Edwin and settled on his wrist with a joyous cry of recognition. - -"Take him," gasped Whero; "keep him as you have kept my Beauty. The -ungrateful pigs were to kill him--to kill and eat my precious redbreast; -but he soared into the air at my call, and they could not catch him." - -Edwin's boyish sympathies were all ablaze for his outraged friend. "Is -that their Maori gratitude," he exclaimed, "when it was your kaka which -guided me to the spot?" - -"When I told them so," sobbed Whero, "they laughed, and said, 'We will -stick his feathers in our hair by way of remembrance.' They shall not -have him or his feathers. They shall eat me first. I will take him -back to the hill which no man cares to climb. I will live with dead -men's bones and despise their tapu; but no man shall eat my kaka." - -During the outpouring of Whero's wrath, Edwin had small chance of -getting an answer to his anxious question. "Are not those your people -rowing across the lake? Is Lawford with them? Did he bring the bag to -your father all right?" - -Whero looked at him incredulously. Edwin waved his hand, and the Maori -boy leaped up for once behind him. He took the kaka from Edwin's wrist -and hugged it fondly whilst he listened to his explanations about -Lawford. - -"It was I," interposed Whero, "who was staying behind to dig up the bag -by the white pines. Did my father think I would not go when I ran off -to call away my kaka? Where could he meet this pakeha and I not know, -that he should trust him to look for his hoard? as if any one beside me -or my mother could find it. Kito!" (lies.) - -But the pelting rain cut short his wonder, as Edwin urged everything -else must give way to the pressing necessity of finding some better -shelter for Mr. Lee. It was useless to look for Lawford any longer. - -"You will help me, Whero?" entreated Edwin earnestly, as they turned the -horse's head towards the small brown tent. It was lying flat, blown -down by the wind in their absence. Hal had folded up the canvas, and -was pacing up and down in a very dismal fashion. - -"Father," said Edwin, springing to the ground, "I can't find Lawford; -but this Maori boy was going to a sheltered place high up in the hills. -Will you let us carry you there?" - -"Anywhere, anywhere, out of this pond," replied Mr. Lee. - -"Have at it then!" cried Whero, seizing hold of the board; but Hal -called out to them to stay a bit. By his direction they lifted Mr. Lee -on his board and laid it along the stout canvas. Hal tied up the ends -with the tent ropes, so that they could carry Mr. Lee between them, -slung, as it were, in a hammock. Hal supported his head, and the two -boys his feet. - -It was a slow progression. Whero led them round to another part of the -hill, where an ancient fissure in its rugged side offered a more gradual -ascent. It was a stairway of nature's making, between two walls of -rock. Stones were lying about the foot, looking as if they might have -been hurled from above on the head of some reckless invader in the old -days of tribal violence. - -Edwin had well named it an ogre's castle. It was a mountain fastness in -every sense, abandoned and decayed. As they gained the summit, Edwin -could see how the hand of man had added to its natural strength. Piles -of stones still guarded the stairway from above, narrowing it until two -could scarcely walk abreast, and they lay there still, a ready heap of -ammunition, piled by the warrior hands sleeping in Tarawera. - -Whero sent his kaka on before him. "See," he exclaimed to Edwin, "the -bird flies fearless over the blighted ground, and you came back to me -unharmed. I will conquer terror by your side, and take possession of my -own. Who should live upon the hill of Hepe but his heir! Am I not lord -and first-born? Count off the moons quickly when I shall carry the -greenstone club, and make the name of Hepe famous among the tribes, as -my mother said. This shall be my home, and my kaka shall live in it." - -They were trampling through the dry brown fern on the hill-top, and here -Whero would willingly have bivouacked. But Hal, who knew nothing of the -traditionary horrors which clung to the spot, pushed on to the shelter -within the colonnade. No tent was needed here. They laid their -helpless burden on the ground and stretched their cramped arms. Whero's -tall talk brought an odd twinkle of amusement into the corner of Hal's -gray eye as he glanced around him humorously. "It is my lord baron, as -we say in England, then," he answered, with a nod to Whero: "but it -looks like my barren lord up here." Whero did not understand the old -man's little joke, and Edwin busied himself with his father. - -Whero descended the hill again and fetched up Beauty, who was as expert -a climber as his former owner, and neighed with delight when he found -himself once more amid the rustling fern. Dry and withered as Edwin had -thought it, to Beauty it was associated with all the joys of early days, -when he trotted a graceful foal by his mother's side. Like Whero, he -was in his native element. - -The proud boy rolled a big stone across the end of the path by which -they had climbed up, and then feeling himself secure, began to execute a -kind of war-dance. - -"Stop your antics," said Hal, cowering against the gigantic trunk which -was sheltering Mr. Lee from the keen winds, "and tell us what that -means." He pointed to a huge white thing towering high above his head, -with open beak and outstretched claw--a giant, wingless bird, its dry -bones rattling with every gust. - -"It is a skeleton," said Edwin, walking nearer to it to take off the -creepy feeling it awakened. - -"It is a moa," said Whero, continuing his dance--"the big old bird which -used to build among these hills until my forefathers ate him up. They -had little to eat but the fern, the shark, and the moa, until the pakeha -came with his pigs and his sheep. There may be one alive in the heights -of Mount Cook, but we often find their skeletons in desolate places." -Then Whero went up close to the quivering bones, and cried out with -exultation when he discovered the hole in its breast through which the -spear of the Hepe had transfixed this ancient denizen of his fortress. - -"It is an unked place," muttered Hal, "but dry to the feet." - -He lit his pipe, and settled himself on the roots of the tree for a -smoke and a sleep. He had been existing for so many days in the midst -of the stifling clouds of volcanic dust and the choking vapours from the -ground, through which chloride of iron gas was constantly escaping for a -space of fifty-six miles, that the purer air to which they had ascended -seemed like life, and robbed the place of its habitual gloom. - -Even Whero, with the Maori's reverential horror of a dead man's bones, -coiled himself to sleep in the rustling fern by Beauty's side, his dream -of future greatness undisturbed by the rattling bones of the moa, and -the still more startling debris which whitened amidst the gnarled and -twisted roots. - -But it was not so with Edwin. He sat beside his father, feeding him -with the undiluted bovril--for water failed them on the rocky -height--and wondering how long the slender store would last. He refused -himself the smallest taste, and bore his hunger without complaint, -hiding the little jar with scrupulous care, for fear Whero should find -it and be tempted to eat up the remainder of its contents. So he kept -his silent vigil. The storm-clouds cleared, and the grandeur of the -view upon which he gazed banished every other thought. He could look -down upon the veil of mist which had hidden the sacred mountains, and -Tarawera rose before him in all its grandeur. He saw the awful rent -which had opened in the side of the central peak, and from which huge -columns of smoke and steam were fitfully ascending. He watched the -leaping tongues of flame dart up like rockets to the midnight sky, once -more ablaze with starshine, and a feeling to which he could give no -expression seemed to lift him beyond the present,--"Man does not live by -bread alone." - - - - - *CHAPTER XV.* - - *WHO HAS BEEN HERE?* - - -"Edwin," said Mr. Lee, when he saw his son shivering beside him in the -gray of the wintry morning, "what is the matter with you? Have you had -enough to eat?" - -"Not quite. Well, you see, father, we have to do as we can," smiled -Edwin, in reply. - -"Certainly; but where on earth have we got to?" resumed the sick man, as -he glanced upwards at the interlacing boughs. - -"We are high up in the hills, father, in one of the old Maori -fastnesses, where the mud and the flood cannot reach us," answered -Edwin. - -"And the children?" asked Mr. Lee. - -"Are all safe by the sea," was the quick reply. - -Mr. Lee's ejaculations of thankfulness were an unspeakable comfort to -Edwin. - -"Did not I hear the splash of oars last night?" asked his father. - -"You might when Whero came. He guided us here," said Edwin. - -"Then," resumed his father, "try to persuade this Maori to row you in -his canoe down the river until you come to an English farm. The -colonists are all so neighbourly and kind, they will sell or lend or -give you what we want most. Make the Maori bring you back. You must -pay him well; these Maoris will do nothing without good pay. Remember -that; but there is plenty in the belt." Mr. Lee ceased speaking. He was -almost lost again, and Edwin dare not remind him that the belt was gone. -But Edwin knew if Whero would do it at all, he would not want to be -paid. - -"With this leg," sighed Mr. Lee slowly and dreamily, -"I--am--a--fixture." - -Sleep was stealing over him, and Edwin did not venture to reply. - -A sympathetic drowsiness was visiting him also, but he was roused out of -it by seeing Hal busily engaged in trying to capture the kaka. - -"It is a good, fat bird," whispered the old man; "they are first-rate -eating in a pie. We can cook him as we did the duck I found; put him in -the boiling mud as the natives do!" - -Up sprang Edwin to the rescue. "No, Hal, no; you must not touch that -bird!" - -He caught the old man's arm, and scared the kaka off. The frightened -bird soared upwards, and concealed itself in the overarching boughs. - -Whero was awakened by its screams, and got up, shaking the dry moss from -his tangled shock of hair, and laughing. - -Edwin called off attention from the kaka by detailing his father's plan. - -The breakfastless trio were of one mind. It must be tried, as it -offered the surest hope of relief. The river was so much safer than the -road. Ottley might never have it in his power to send the promised -help. Some danger might have overwhelmed him also. What was the use of -waiting for the growing of the grass, if a readier way presented itself? -Hal spread out the canvas of the tent to dry, and talked of putting it -up in the new location. Legs and arms were wonderfully stiff from -keeping on wet clothes. But the most pressing want was water. Dry -ground and pure air were essential, but thirst was intolerable. They -took the cup by turns and went down to a spring which Whero pointed out. -Beauty had found for himself a little pond, which nature had scooped -out, and the recent rains had filled with greenish water which he did -not despise. - -Whilst Hal was away, Edwin intimated to Whero that it was not very safe -to leave his kaka with him; for he feared the bird would be killed and -eaten as soon as they were gone, although he did not say so to his Maori -friend. - -Whero's eyes were ablaze with rage in a moment. "Let him touch it!" he -snorted rather than hissed. "I'll meet him. If it's here on the hill, -I'll hurl him over that precipice. If--if--" Edwin's eye was fastened -on the boy with a steady gaze. Whero raised his clinched hand, as if to -strike. "Tell him," he went on--"tell him in our country here the mud -is ever boiling to destroy the Maori's foes. I'll push him down the -first jet we pass." He looked around him proudly, and kicked away the -skull beneath his foot, as if to remind his listener how in that very -spot the threats in which he had been indulging found plenty of -precedent. - -Edwin exerted all his self-command. He would not suffer one angry or -one fearful word to pass his lips, although both anger and fear were -rising in his heart. But the effort to keep himself as cool and quiet -as he could was rewarded. Whero saw that he was not afraid; and the -uncontrollable passion of the young savage expended itself in vain -denunciations. - -Edwin knew how the Maoris among themselves despise an outburst of -passion, and he tried to shame Whero, saying, "Is that the way your -warriors talk at their councils? Ours are grave, and reason with each -other, until they find out the wisest course to take. That is what I -want to do as soon as we have caught the kaka." - -The catching of the macaw proved a safety-valve; and Whero went down to -the lake to get the canoe ready, with the bird on his wrist. - -Edwin ran back to beg Hal to return to his father, as he and Whero were -hurrying off to the lake. He had saved a dangerous quarrel, but it left -him very grave. He was more and more afraid of what Whero might do in a -moment of rage. "Oh, I am excessively glad, I am thankful," he thought, -"that I was not forced to leave him alone with Effie and Cuthbert!" It -was well that Whero was rowing, for the exertion seemed to calm him. -Edwin escaped from the difficulty of renewing their conversation by -beginning to sing, and Whero, with all the Maori love of music, was -easily lured to listen as "Merry may the keel row" echoed from bank to -bank, and the splash of his paddle timed itself to the words of the -song. - -Edwin assured him he was singing to keep the kaka quiet, which had -nestled on his folded arms, and was looking up in his face with evident -enjoyment. As they paddled on the old ford-horse stepped out into the -water to hear him, so they stopped the canoe and went ashore to pull him -out his hay. He followed them for nearly half-a-mile, and they lost -sight of him at last as they rounded the bend in the river. He was -fording his way across the huge bed of shingle, over which the yellow, -rattling, foaming torrent wandered at will. The tiny canoe shot -forward, borne along without an effort by the force of the stream. With -difficulty they turned its head to zigzag round a mighty boulder, hurled -from its mountain home by the recent convulsions. - -Even now as the river came tearing down from the heights above, it was -bringing with it tons upon tons of silt and shingle and gravel. The -roar of these stones, as they rolled over each other and crashed and -dashed in the bed of the flood, was louder than the angry surges on the -tempestuous shore when Edwin saw the coaster going down. The swift -eddies and undertows thus created made rowing doubly dangerous, and -called forth Whero's utmost skill. - -But the signs of desolation on the river-banks were growing fainter. -Between the blackened tracts where the lightning had fired the fern -broken and storm-bent trees still lifted their leafless boughs, and -shook the blue dust which weighed them down into the eyes of the -travellers. - -Here and there a few wild mountain sheep, which had strayed through the -broken fences of the run, were feeding up-wind to keep scent of danger. -But other sign of life there was none, until they sighted an -English-built boat painfully toiling along against the force of the -current. They hailed it with a shout, and Edwin's heart leaped with joy -as he distinguished Mr. Hirpington's well-known tones in the heartiness -of the reply. "Well met, boys. Come with us." - -They were soon alongside, comparing notes and answering inquiries. -Dunter, who plied the other oar, nodded significantly to Edwin. He had -encountered Ottley, and received his warning as to the depredations -likely to ensue if the ford-house were left to itself much longer. He -had started off to find the governor. - -The good old forder was still scraping amongst the shingle, and when he -saw his master in the boat, he came plunging through the water to meet -him with such vehemence he almost caused an upset. But the stairs were -close at hand, and as Mr. Hirpington often declared, he and his old -horse had long ago turned amphibious. They came out of the water side -by side, shaking themselves like Newfoundland dogs. It was marvellous -to Mr. Hirpington to discover that his old favourite had taken no harm. - -"He is a knowing old brute," said Dunter. But when they saw the writing -on the shutter, they knew where he had found a friend. The pipe-clay -was smeared by the rain, but the little that was legible "gave me a -prick," said Mr. Hirpington, "I cannot well stand." - -A great deal of the mud had been washed on to Ottley's tarpaulin, which -had been pushed aside by the fury of the storm, as Mr. Hirpington was -inclined to think. But there were footprints on the bank of mud jamming -up doors and windows--recent footprints, impressed upon it since the -storm. Dunter could trace them over the broken roof. They were not -Edwin's. Dunter pointed to the impression just left by his boot as the -boy climbed up to them. That was conclusive. - -"If it were any poor fellow in search of food under circumstances like -these, I would not say a word," remarked Mr. Hirpington. - -Dunter found a firmer footing for himself, and getting hold of the edge -of the sheet of iron, he forced it up, and with his master's help -dislodged a half-ton weight of mud, which went down into the river with -a mighty splash. To escape from the shower-bath, which deluged both -them and the roof, the three jumped down into the great farm kitchen. -There all was slime, and a sulphurous stench vitiated the atmosphere. - -"We can't breathe here," said Mr. Hirpington, seizing Edwin's arm and -mounting him on the dining-table. - -The muddy slush into which they had plunged was almost level with its -top. The door into the bedroom was wrenched off, and lodged against it, -forming a kind of bridge over the mud. But there was one thing which -the earthquake, the mud, and the storm could never have effected. They -could not have filled the sacks lying on the other end of the long -tables. That could only have been done by human hands. - -They were all three on the table now. Mr. Hirpington untied the nearest -sack, and pushed his arm inside. - -"Some of our good Christchurch blankets and my best coat," he muttered. -"I have no need to make them in a worse state with my muddy hands. -Leave them where they are for the present," he continued, turning to -Dunter, who began to empty out the contents of the other sacks. - -Mr. Hirpington looked about for his gun. It was in its old place, lying -across the boar's tusks, fixed like pegs against the opposite wall. It -was double-barrelled, and he knew he had left it loaded for the night as -usual. - -"You must get that down, Dunter," he said, "and mount guard here, whilst -I take young Lee back to his father. That must be the first concern. -When I return we must set to work in earnest--bail out this slush, mend -the roof over the bedroom to the river, where it is least damaged, and -live in it whilst we clear the rest. Light and air are to be had there -still, for the windows on that side are clear. More's the pity we did -not stay there. But when that awful explosion came, my wife and I -rushed into the kitchen, and so did most of the men. I was tugging at -the outer door, which would not open, and 'cooing' with all my might, -when the crash came, and I knew no more until I found myself in the -boat." - -"I was a prisoner in my little den," put in Dunter; "and I kept up the -'coo' till Mr. Lee came, for I could not open door or window though I -heard your groans." - -"Yes, Lee must be our first care. We owe our lives to him alone; -understand that, all of you. He had us out before anybody else -arrived," Mr. Hirpington went on, as he heaved up the fallen door and -made a bridge with it from the table to the back of the substantial -sofa, over which his gun was lying. From such a mount he could reach it -easily. Was there anything else they required? He looked around him. -Dunter had got possession of a boat-hook, and was fishing among the -kettles and saucepans under the dresser. The bacon, which had been -drying on the rack laid across the beams of the unceiled roof, had all -gone down into the mud; but the solid beams themselves had not given -way, only the ties were dislodged and broken, with the iron covering. -All the crockery on the shelves of course was smashed. A flying dish -had struck Mrs. Hirpington on the head and laid her senseless before the -rain of mud began. But her husband had more to do now than to recount -the how and the why of their disaster. - -He was hastily gathering together such things within reach as might be -most needed by the sufferer on the hills. A kettle and a pan and a big -cooking-spoon, which Dunter had fished out, were tied up in the -Christchurch blanket dislodged from the sack, and slung across Mr. -Hirpington's shoulder. Dunter made his way into the bedroom, and pulled -out a couple of pillows. Here, he asserted, some one must have been -before him; for muddy footsteps had left their mark on the top of the -chest of drawers and across the bed-quilt, and no mud had entered there -ere the Hirpingtons fled. Yet muddy fingers had left their impress high -up on wardrobe-doors and on window-curtains, which had been drawn back -to admit the light. Over this room the roof had not given way. The -inference was clear--some one had entered it. - -Mr. Hirpington glanced up from the bundle he was tying, and spoke aside -to Edwin: "You knew the man Ottley surprised in the house?" - -"Yes," answered Edwin; "he was one of the rabbiters. I thought he was -looking for food, as we were. Mr. Ottley did not say anything to me -about his suspicions. Somebody else may have got in since then, Mr. -Hirpington." - -"Certainly, certainly," was the answer, and the three emerged again into -daylight. - -As they stood upon the roof shaking and scraping the mud from each -other, Edwin looked round for Whero. - -"Whoever filled these sacks," observed Mr. Hirpington, when he was alone -with Dunter, "means to come back and fetch them. Be on the watch, for I -must leave you here alone." - -Dunter was no stranger to the Maori boy, and invited him to share in the -good things he was unloading from the boat, thinking to secure himself a -companion. Whilst he was talking of pork-pies and cheese, Edwin -suggested the loan of a spade and a pail. - -"A' right!" exclaimed Whero, with a nod of intelligence; "I'll have -both." - -"Ay, take all," laughed Edwin, as he ran down the boating-stairs after -Mr. Hirpington, who was impatient to be off. Whero followed his friend -to the water's edge to rub noses ere they parted. The grimaces with -which Edwin received this final token of affection left Dunter shaking -with laughter. - -"I go to dig by the white pines," said Whero. - -"But you will come back to the hill of Hepe. We shall have food enough -for us all," returned Edwin, pointing to the boat in which Mr. -Hirpington was already seated. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI.* - - *LOSS AND SUSPICION.* - - -The great hole which Lawford had made in the mud was not yet filled up. -He had walled the sides with broken branches, damming up the mud behind -him as he dug his way to the roots of the white pines. - -Of course the mud was slowly oozing through these defences, and might -soon swallow them up. But Whero felt he was just in time. He dipped -out a pail or two from the bottom, and felt about for the original hole -in which he had hidden the bag. His foot went into the hole unawares. -He was not long in satisfying himself that the treasure was gone. It -was too heavy to float away. However great the depth of mud might be -above, it should still be in the hole where he had hidden it. He had -covered it over with bark. The bark was there, but the bag was gone. - -He went back to the ford. Dunter was at work dipping out the slime from -the farm-house kitchen. The boy did not wait to speak to him, but pushed -off his canoe and paddled away down the river to find his mother. -Dunter had promised to take care of his kaka during his absence. Well, -if that were prolonged, he would take care of it all the same, so Whero -reasoned, as he was carried along by the rapid current. - -He was watching for the first sign of the Maori encampment, which he -knew he should find beyond the vast tract which had been desolated by -the rain of mud. The canoe shot onward, until the first leaf became -visible on the evergreens, and the fish were once more leaping in the -water. The terraced banks of the river were broken here and there with -deep gulches and sunken canyons. It was in one of these retreats that -he was expecting to find the Maori tents. - -The river was rushing deep and swift as before, but its margin was now -studded with reeds and ti trees. The crimson heads of the great -water-hens were poking out of their midst to stare at him, and flocks of -ducks rose noisily from their reedy beds. - -Whero began to sing one of the wild and plaintive native melodies. But -his voice was almost drowned by the roar of the whirling stones, and his -passage was continually impeded by the masses of drift-wood--great arms -of trees, and uprooted trunks--striking against the boulders and -threatening him with an upset. - -Yet he still sang on, until a low, sweet echo answered him from the -bank, and he saw his mother gathering fern by the water's edge. - -The canoe was quickly run aground, and he leaped ashore to join her. -Then he saw that his grandfather Kakiki Mahane was sitting on a stone -not far off. Whero walked up a little ashamed of his behaviour; but for -him Marileha had no reproaches, for he was the bitter-sweet which -changed her joy to pain and her pain to joy continually. - -She hailed his return, for her heart was aching for her baby, which -could not survive their terrible entombment. She pointed to the bend in -the ravine, where one or two small whares had been hastily built. Two -uprights in the ground, with a pole across, had been walled with mats, -roughly and quickly woven from flax-leaf and bulrush. Every Maori had -been hard at work, and work could get them all they wanted here, except -the hot stone and the geyser-bath. - -With her own hands Marileha had cooked them what she called a good -square dinner. - -But the ideal life of the Maori is one of perfect laziness, and as a -Maori lady Marileha had enjoyed this from her birth. Her old father was -trying to comfort her. She should go back with him to her own people. -She should not stay where the fish had to be caught, and the wild duck -snared, and the wild pig hunted, and then brought to her to kindle a -fire to cook them, when he was a rich man, who could live like his -kinsmen at Hawke's Bay, hire a grand house of the pakeha, and pay white -servants to do everything for them. - -The prospect was an alluring one, but Marileha did not believe anything -would induce Nga-Hepe to abandon his native hills even for a season. - -"Have I not sat in the councils of the pakeha?" argued Kakiki. "Do I -not see our people giving place to theirs? The very rat they have -brought over seas drives away our kiore [the native rat], and we see him -no more. Have I not ever said, Let your young lord and first-born go -amongst them, that he may learn their secret and hold his own in manhood -against them?" - -"I have learned it," put in Whero: "it is 'work.' Was it for this, -mother, you sent a pakeha to dig up the bag we buried by the white -pines?" - -Marileha hushed her son as she glanced nervously around, for none of her -Maori companions must know of the existence of that bag. - -"Foolish boy," she said softly, "what pakeha had we to send? The bag is -safe where we hid it; no one but you or I could find it." - -"Then it is stolen," exclaimed Whero, "for the bag is gone." - -They questioned him closely. How had he discovered that the bag was -gone? As they walked away to find Nga-Hepe, the old patriarch laid his -hand on his daughter's arm, remarking in a low aside. which was not -intended for Whero's ear, as he did not wish to excite his -indignation,-- - -"It is the farmer's son who has had it; no one else knew of it. Our own -people cannot help in this matter; we must go to the pakeha chiefs." - -In the meantime, whilst Whero was disclosing the loss of the buried -treasure, Edwin was marching over the waste by Mr. Hirpington's side. -The heavy load they had to carry when they left the boat made them very -slow; but on they toiled to the foot of the hill, when Mr. Hirpington's -ready "coo" brought Hal to their assistance. - -He looked very white and trembling--a mere ghost of his former self. -Mr. Hirpington could hardly recognize him. He was down in heart as -well, for his pipe, his sole remaining solace, had burned out just -half-an-hour before he heard the welcome "coo" at the foot of the hill. - -For a moment the two men stood regarding each other as men regard the -survivals of a dread catastrophe. - -"Lord bless you, sir," said Hal. "I never thought to see you again, -looking so hale and hearty." - -"Don't talk about looks, Hal. Why, you are but a walking skeleton!" -exclaimed Mr. Hirpington. "But cheer up," he added,--"the worst is over; -we shall pull ourselves together now. Lend a hand with this basket up -the steep." - -The climb before them was something formidable to the genial speaker. - -Edwin was already lost to view beneath the overhanging wall of rock -which shadowed the cleft. They had trodden down a pathway through the -fern; but the ascent was blocked by Beauty, who seemed resolute to upset -the load on Edwin's head, as he had upset the board in the bush. In -vain did Edwin apostrophize him, and thunder out a succession of "whoas" -and "backs," and "Stand you still, you stupid, or you will roll me -over." It was all of no use. He was obliged to shunt his burden on to -the heap of stones; and Beauty, with a neigh of delight, came a little -closer, so that he too might rub his nose against Edwin's cheek. - -"Don't you mean to let me pass, you silly old fellow? Well, then, I -won't turn baker's boy any more; and what I want to carry I'll carry on -my back, as you do. There!" - -But Edwin at last seized Beauty by the forelock, and forcing him to one -side, squeezed by. - -"Edwin!" called his father, and a feeble hand was lifted to beckon him -nearer, "what are you bringing?" - -"Pillows, father, pillows," he cried, as he stumbled over the twisted -roots, half blinded by the sombre gloom beneath those giant trees where -his father was lying. Edwin slipped out of his sandwich with exceeding -celerity. A pillow was under the poor aching head in another minute, -and a second propping the bruised shoulders, and Edwin stood by his -father, smiling with the over-brimming joy of a grand success. - -Then he denuded himself of the blanket, which he had been wearing like a -Highlander's plaid, and wrapped it over the poor unfortunate, cramping -in the bleak mountain air with cold and hunger. - -"Father," he went on cheerily, "the worst is over. Mr. Hirpington is -here. He has come to see after you." - -"Too late, too late," moaned Mr. Lee. "I fear I am done for. The -activity of my days is over, Edwin; and what remains to us?" - -"We don't know yet, father," answered the boy, gravely. "I'm young and -ever so strong, and if I've only got you to tell me what to do, I can do -a lot." - -"But, Edwin, have you seen anything of my belt?" asked Mr. Lee, -collecting his wandering thoughts. - -Edwin shook his head. - -"What has become of it?" repeated the sick man nervously, as Mr. -Hirpington appeared above the stones. Edwin went to meet him, and to -gather together the remainder of his load, which he had left for Beauty -to inspect at will. - -"A horse up here!" exclaimed Mr. Hirpington. "He must have the feet and -knees of a goat." - -"I think he has," answered Edwin, backing his favourite to a respectful -distance as Mr. Hirpington stepped on to the top of the hill, panting -and puffing from the toilsomeness of the long ascent. - -He looked around him bewildered, and followed Edwin into the dim -recesses beyond the gloomy colonnade of trees, whose hoary age was -beyond their reckoning. - -"I am the most miserable of men!" he exclaimed, as he stooped over his -prostrate friend, and clasped the hand which had saved him at such a -cost. "How do I find you?" - -"Alive," answered Mr. Lee, "and likely to live, a burden--" - -"No, no, father," interposed Edwin. - -"Don't say that!" exclaimed Mr. Hirpington, winking hard to get rid of a -certain moisture about the eyelids very unusual to him. "To think how I -have been living in clover all these days whilst you were lying here, it -unmans me. But where on earth are you bivouacking? in a charnel-house?" -He ceased abruptly with a shudder, as he discovered it was a human skull -he was crushing beneath the heel of his boot. - -Hal was busy with the basket, and Edwin ran off to his assistance. - -"Sit down, Hal, and begin to eat," urged Edwin. "Now I have come back -let me see after father." - -But the sight of the longed-for food was too much for the old man. He -began to cry like a child. - -If the first glance into the full basket had been more than poor Hal -could bear, the first taste was a sight from which Mr. Hirpington had to -turn away. The one great object before him and Edwin was to get the two -to eat, for the starving men seemed at first to refuse the food they -were craving for; in fact they could hardly bear it. Mr. Lee put back -the cold meat and bread, unable to swallow more; so Edwin at once turned -stoker, and lit up a jolly fire of sticks and drying roots. - -"We must get them something hot," said Mr. Hirpington, opening one of -the many tins of soup which he had brought with him. Soon the savoury -contents of the steaming kettle brought back a shadow of English -comfort. - -Mr. Hirpington had passed many a night of camping out before he settled -down at the ford, and he set to work like an old hand. The canvas of -the tent was stretched from tree to tree and well pegged down, so as to -form a screen on the windward side. The dry moss and still drier fern -that could be collected about the brow of the hill where Beauty was -ranging, were brought in and strewed over the gnarled and twisted roots, -until they gained a warm and comparatively level floor, with an -excrescence here and there which served them for a seat. The basket was -hung up to preserve its remaining contents from the inspection of -centipedes and crawling things, for which Edwin as yet had no -nomenclature. - -Then the men pulled up their collars to their ears, set their backs -against the wind, lit a well-filled pipe, and laid their plans. The -transfer of Mr. Hirpington's tobacco-pouch to Hal's pocket had brought -back a gleam of sunshine--wintry sunshine, it must be confessed; but who -could look for more? Mr. Lee, too, was undeniably better. The shake -his brains had received was going over. He was once more able to listen -and understand. - -"I have telegraphed to Auckland," explained Mr. Hirpington. "I shall -have my store of corrugated iron by the next coaster, and Middleton's -barge will bring it up to the ford. Thank God for our waterways, there -is no stoppage there! I have always kept to the river. But, old -friend, before we mend up my own house we must get a roof over your -head. There is not a man under me who will not be eager to help us at -that; and we cannot do much to the road until the mud hardens -thoroughly, so for once there will be help to be had. We are booked for -the night up here; but to-morrow I propose to take your boy with me, and -go over to your place and see the state it is in. A wooden house stands -a deal of earthquaking. Edwin thinks it was the chimney came down. We -must put you up an iron one. You have plenty of timber ready felled to -mend the roof, and rushes are growing to hand. It is only the work that -has to be done, and we all know how to work in New Zealand." - -"Oh ay," chimed in old Hal; "most on us sartinly do, and this little -chap ain't no foreigner there." - -He was already nodding. The comforting influences of the soup and the -pipe were inviting the return of "tired nature's sweet restorer." -By-and-by he slipped from his seat upon the soft moss, and was lost to -every trouble in balmy sleep. Edwin covered him up, feeling rich in the -possession of a blanket for every one of the party. - -The wintry twilight was gathering round them, cold and chill. The -skeleton of the bird monster rattled and shook, and gleamed in spectral -whiteness between the blackness of the shadows flung by the interlacing -boughs. A kiore working amongst the dry bones seemed to impart a -semblance of life to them which effectually banished sleep from Mr. -Hirpington, who persuaded Edwin to come closer to him, declaring the boy -looked frightened; and well he might, for who but a clod could lay his -head on such a floor? - -Assured at last that Hal was lost to all outward perception, Mr. Lee -whispered the story of his loss. The belt was gone--taken from him -whilst he was unconscious. No doubt about that. Mr. Hirpington -described the state in which he found his house--the three sackfuls -ready to be carried off. Edwin thought he had better tell his father -now of the digging up of Whero's treasure. - -"There is a thief amongst us," said Mr. Hirpington, "and suspicion -points to the gang of rabbiters." - -"No, not to Hal," interposed Mr. Lee; "not to all. We may yet find the -belt." - -He was growing excited and restless. He had talked too much. - -"I must have this matter over with Dunter," was Mr. Hirpington's -conclusion, when he saw how unable poor Mr. Lee was to bear any -lengthened conversation. Before they settled to sleep he charged Edwin -to be very careful, and not let any alteration in his manner put the old -man on his guard. - -The three arose in the gray of the morning with renewed energy. To take -Beauty to water, to light a fire and prepare a breakfast in the solitary -fastness, left scant time for any further discussion. But second -thoughts told Mr. Lee that in such strange circumstances loss was almost -inevitable. If his belt had been taken off when his leg was set, it -might have been dropped in the all-surrounding mud and never missed. - -"True, true," answered Mr. Hirpington, and leaving Mr. Lee to his son's -care, he strolled across to the fire, where Hal was brewing the morning -coffee, and began to question him about the accident--how and where the -tree fell. But no new light was thrown upon the loss. It was hopeless -to dig about in the mud, supposing Mr. Lee's last surmise to be correct. -He determined to ride Beauty to the ford and look round the scene of the -disaster with Edwin. - -The day was well up when he stepped across the sunken fence which used -to guard his own domain, and found Dunter fixing a pail at the end of -the boat-hook to facilitate the bailing out of the mud. - -The Maori boy had deserted him, he said, and a fellow single-handed -could do little good at work like his. No one else had been near the -place. He had kept his watch-fire blazing all night as the best scare -to depredators. In Dunter's opinion prevention was the only cure. With -so many men wandering homeless about the hills, and with so many -relief-parties marching up in every direction, there was sure to be -plenty of pilfering, but who could track it home? - -The hope of discovering the belt appeared to grow less and less. - -"What shall we do without the money?" lamented Edwin, as he continued -his journey with his father's friend. "Trouble seems to follow -trouble." - -"It does," said Mr. Hirpington; "for one grows out of another. But you -have not got it all, my boy; for my land, which would have sold for a -pound an acre last Saturday week, is not worth a penny with all this -depth of volcanic mud upon it. Nothing can grow. But when we get to -your father's, where the deposit is only a few inches deep, we shall -find the land immensely improved. It will have doubled its value." - -As they drew nearer to the little valley the road grew better. The mud -had dried, and the fern beneath it was already forcing its way through -the crust. The once sparkling rivulet was reduced to a muddy ditch, -choked with fallen trees and stones, which the constant earthquaking had -shaken down from the sides of the valley. - -Beauty took his way to the familiar gate, and neighed. Edwin jumped -down and opened it. All was hopeful here, as Mr. Hirpington had -predicted. The ground might have been raised a foot, but the house had -not been changed into a cellar. The daylight shone through the windows, -broken as they were. The place was deluged, not entombed. - -"You might return to-morrow," said Mr. Hirpington. "This end of the -house is uninjured." - -The chimney was down, it was true, the sleeping-rooms were demolished, -but the workshop and storeroom were habitable. Whilst Mr. Hirpington -considered the roof, Edwin ran round and peeped in at the broken -windows. Dirt and confusion reigned everywhere, but no trace as yet of -unwelcome visitors. A feeble mew attracted his attention, and Effie's -kitten popped up its little head from the fallen cupboard in which it -had evidently been exploring. It was fat and well. An unroofed pantry -had been its hunting-ground; not the little room at the other end of the -veranda, but a small latticed place which Mr. Lee had made to keep the -uncooked meat in. The leg of a wild pig and a brace of kukas or wild -pigeons, about twice the size of their English namesake, were still -hanging on the hooks where Audrey had left them. - -The leg of pork had been nibbled all round, and the heads were torn from -the pigeons. - -"Lucky Miss Kitty," said Edwin. "We thought you had got the freedom of -the bush, and here you've been living in luxury whilst the rest of the -world was starving. Come; you must go shares, you darling!" - -It clawed up the wall, and almost leaped into his arms, to be covered -with kisses and deafened with promises which were shouted out in the joy -of his heart, until Mr. Hirpington began to wonder what had happened. - -"My boy, have you gone quite crazy?" he exclaimed. "Why don't you look -after your horse? you will lose him!" - -Edwin looked round, and saw Beauty careering up the side of the valley. -He shut the kitten carefully into the workshop. Mr. Hirpington had just -got the other door open, and came out to assist in recalling Beauty to -his duty. - -Edwin started off after his horse; but he had not gone far when he was -aware of another call, to which his Beauty paid more heed than he seemed -disposed to show to Edwin's reiterated commands to come back. - -The call was in Maori, and in a few minutes Nga-Hepe himself emerged -from the bush and seized the horse by the forelock. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII.* - - *EDWIN IN DANGER.* - - -When Mr. Hirpington came up he found his little English friend in -earnest argument with the Maori warrior. - -Nga-Hepe's looks were excited and wild. He was carrying the famous -greenstone club, which he brandished every now and then in the heat of -the conversation. - -"Come with me," he was saying peremptorily--"come with me and find the -man." - -"I cannot," answered Edwin, toughly. "I cannot leave my father. Take -the horse, if you will, and follow the tracks in the mud. I will show -you which is Lawford's footprint." - -"Show me the man, and I will believe you," retorted Nga-Hepe, swinging -himself lightly upon Beauty's back as he spoke. - -Edwin glanced round at Mr. Hirpington. It was a look which said, "Stand -by me." The appeal was mute, and he answered it neither by word nor -sign. Edwin thought despairingly he had not understood him, but a hand -was laid on his shoulder. He almost fancied he was pushed aside, as Mr. -Hirpington spoke to Nga-Hepe in his cheeriest tones:-- - -"Well met, old neighbour. Both of us above ground once again, thank God -in his mercy. As for me and mine, we were fairly buried alive, and -should have died under the mud but for this lad's father. We left -everything and fled for our lives, and so it was with most of us. But -now the danger is over, I have come back to look after my property, and -find a thief has been there before me. According to this boy's account, -I am afraid the same fellow has walked off with something of yours. But -I have a plan to catch him, and you are the one to help me." - -"A' right," answered the Maori. "You catch your man, I catch my boy. -Man and boy go hand in hand." - -"No," said Edwin stoutly; "I have nothing to do with Lawford." - -Nga-Hepe raised his club. "You, who but you," he asked, "watched my -wife dig hole? Who but you set foot on the spot? Who but you say, 'Man -dig here'? I'll make you say a little more. Which had the bag?" - -"I have never seen or touched the bag since I gave it back to your wife -Marileha on the night of the tana's visit," answered Edwin. - -"A' right," repeated Nga-Hepe. "No, you are not a' right, or you would -go with me to find the man; for who but you knows who he is? If you -won't, you are a' wrong, and I have come here to kill you." - -An exasperated savage on horseback, with a club in his hand, was no mean -foe. Edwin thought of old Hal's words. Was it a bad day's work which -restored Nga-Hepe to life? But he answered himself still with an -unwavering "No." - -"You are returning me evil for good," said Edwin quietly. "Whero would -not have dared to follow the kaka over the mud if I had not gone with -him; but for me you would have been a dead man. Ask Whero--ask your own -son." - -"I take no counsel with boys," answered the Maori loftily. - -"Neither do I think overmuch of boys," interposed Mr. Hirpington; "but -we will keep young Lee with us, and all go together and find the man if -possible. Yet with you on his back that horse will go like the wind. -How are we to keep up with you?" - -"You have ridden behind me before," said Nga-Hepe, turning to Edwin; -"you can do it again." - -"Only I won't," thought Edwin; but aloud he said, "So I could, but then -there is Mr. Hirpington. What is he to do?" - -"Ah!" put in the latter, taking out his pipe and lighting it -deliberately, "the question is not how we shall go, but which way. The -relief-parties are beginning to disperse. Now, Nga-Hepe, I am as -earnestly desiring to help you as I am to defend myself. Only I see -plainly if we try to follow the fellow among these wild hills we shall -miss him. He belongs to a gang of rabbiters. I know their leader. Let -him call his chums together. I'll provide the lure--a reward and a -jolly good dinner for every one of the poor fellows who came so -gallantly to our help at the risk of their own lives. We must bear in -mind that after Mr. Lee these rabbiters were the first in the field. If -there is a black sheep among them, we shall have him. But I must get my -own men about me, and then we will confront him with Edwin Lee, in the -presence of them all." - -"Your plan is good," answered the Maori. "Try it and I try mine; then -one or other of us will catch him." - -"That will be me," remarked Mr. Hirpington, in a knock-down tone. - -"Jump up!" cried Nga-Hepe, turning to Edwin. - -"No, no," interposed Mr. Hirpington; "it is I who must have young Lee. -I have left a watchman at the ford ready to pounce on the thief if he -should return there for his booty. I may want this boy any minute. -Ride fast from camp to camp. Ask for any of my roadmen among them, and -give my message to them. Ask if there are any rabbiters, and give the -other in Hal's name. I'll make it right with the old man. We shall -throw our net so wide this Lawford can't escape our meshes. He must -have got your bag about him, and the other money I suspect he has taken. -We'll make him give it all up." - -No one was noticing Edwin. He made a slight sound, which set Beauty off -trotting, as he knew it would. - -The delight of feeling his own good horse beneath him once again induced -Nga-Hepe to quicken the trot to a gallop. He did not turn back to -prolong the discussion, but only waved his arm in reply. - -Edwin thought to increase the distance between them by running off in -the opposite direction. - -"No, no," said Mr. Hirpington; "just stand still by me. If he saw you -begin to run, he would be after you in a minute. If the ape and the -tiger lie dormant in some of us, the wild animal is rampant in him. -Face him to the last." - -Edwin looked up with admiring gratitude at the friend who had so -skilfully delivered him. - -They watched the vanishing figure as Edwin had watched him on the day of -his first acquaintance with the Maori warrior. - -"He will never give back my Beauty," he sighed, as horse and rider were -lost to view in the darkling bush. - -"Your horse may prove your ransom," said Mr. Hirpington, as they -retraced their steps. He knew that the boy's life was no longer safe -within the reach of the angry savage. What was he to do? Send him off -to a friend at a distance until the affair had blown over? Yes; row him -down the river and put him on board one of the Union steamers. - -He began to question Edwin. "Had they any other friends in New -Zealand?" - -"None," answered the boy. - -"More's the pity," said Mr. Hirpington; "for it will not do for you and -your father to remain alone with Hal on that hill any longer. We must -separate you from the rabbiters, for the gang will be sure to draw -together soon. It is nearly a week since the eruption. I hope and -trust some of my men may get my message, and come to us before Nga-Hepe -returns." - -"If any of the surveying party are about still, they would help us," -said Edwin. "Mr. Ottley told me how to signal to them, and they -answered at once. They said we were to signal again if we wanted them. -The captain of the coaster is with them. He would be sure to come." - -Mr. Hirpington knew nothing about the captain, but he assented. "Signal -by all means. If we have Englishmen enough about us, we shall carry -this through. We must get your father home. One or two men will soon -mend the roof. I'll spare you Dunter; he would keep a sharp look-out. -As the relief-parties disperse, we shall see who comes our way. Chance -may favour us." - -Then the two started again for the ford, leaving pussy once more in -possession of the valley farm. Mr. Hirpington was struck when he saw the -difference a single day's hard work had effected. - -"I want to be by your side, Dunter, putting my own shoulder to the -wheel, and we should soon fetch the mistress home. But we are in for an -awful deal of trouble with these poor Lees, and we can't fail them. -Somehow they do not square it with their Maori neighbours," he sighed. - -"Not quite up to managing 'em yet, I guess," replied Dunter, as he -showed his master a kitchen clear of mud, although a stranger still to -the scrubbing-brush. A few loose boards were laid down as pathways to -the bedroom doors, which all stood wide, letting in the clear river -breeze from the windows beyond. Dunter was washing his hands to have a -spell at the bedmaking, as he said. - -"We are all relegated to the cellar," sighed his master, "and we cannot -stay to enjoy even that. We shall have a row with Nga-Hepe's people if -we are not on the alert. I want to get this young Lee out of their way. -Where will he be safest for to-night?" - -"Here with me, abed and asleep," answered the man unhesitatingly. - -Mr. Hirpington glanced into the range of bedrooms, still left as at the -moment when their occupants rushed out in the first alarm. "That will -do," he assented. "Trust a boy to go to sleep. He will tumble in just -as the beds are. Anything for his supper?" - -"Plenty, but it is all poisoned with the horrid sulphurous stench. -Something out of the tins is best," groaned Dunter. - -"Give him one or two to open for himself, and shut him in. Drive that -meal-barrel against the door, and don't you let him out till I come -back," was Mr. Hirpington's parting charge, as he pushed off in his boat -for the lake, to light the beacon-fires on the hills around it, to -summon the help he so much needed. - -Edwin, who had been hunting up the kaka, was disappointed to find -himself left behind. - -"All the better for you," retorted Dunter. "Take the bird in with you, -and get a sound sleep, now you have the chance." - -"Oh, you are good!" exclaimed Edwin, when he saw a jug of river-water, a -tin of sardines, and another of brawn, backed by a hunch of mouldy -bread, provided for his supper. - -The door was shut, and he lay down without a suspicion of the -kindly-meant imprisonment on which he was entering. Both men were sure -he would never have consented to it had he known of their intentions -beforehand. They did not want to make the boy too much afraid of his -dusky neighbours; "for he has got to live in the midst of them," they -said. "He will let them alone after this," thought Dunter. "He has had -his scare for the present; let him sleep and forget it." - -The deep and regular breathing of a sleeper soon told Dunter his wish -was realized. - -It was a weary vigil for Mr. Hirpington. He kept his watch-fire blazing -from dusk till dawn. - -It was a wakeful, anxious night for Hal and Mr. Lee, who saw the -beacon-lights afar, and wondered more and more over the unlooked-for -sight. - -"It is some one signalling for help," groaned Mr. Lee, feeling most -painfully his inability to give it. It might be Edwin, it might be some -stranger. He wanted his companion to leave him and go to see. But the -old man only shook his head, and muttered, "There is no go left in me, -I'm so nearly done." - -Mr. Hirpington had given up hope. He had coiled himself in his blanket, -laid his head on the hard ground, and yielded to the overwhelming desire -for sleep. - -The returning party of surveyors, who started on their march with the -first peep of the dawn, caught the red glow through the misty gray. -They turned their steps aside, and found, as they supposed, a sleeping -traveller. It was the only face they had seen on the hills which was -not haggard and pale. In the eyes of those toilworn men, fresh from the -perils of the rescue, it seemed scarcely possible that any one there -could look so ruddy and well unless he had been selfishly shirking his -duty to his neighbour, and the greeting they gave him was biting with -its caustic. - -"There is no help for me out of such a set of churls," thought Mr. -Hirpington bitterly, as he tried to tell his story, without making much -impression, until he mentioned the name of Edwin Lee, and then they -turned again to listen, for the captain was amongst them. - -But as for this stranger, had he not food and friends of his own? what -did he want of them? they asked. - -"Help for a neighbour who has saved more lives than can be counted, and -is now lying on the hills with a broken leg; help to convey him to his -home," Mr. Hirpington returned, with increasing warmth, as he showed -them there was but one way of doing that. They must carry the poor -fellow through the bush on a stretcher. "When did colonists turn their -back on a chum in distress?" he asked reproachfully. - -"Shut up," said the captain, "and show us where he lies." - -They would have set to work on the broken boughs and twisted them into a -stretcher; but there was nothing small enough for the purpose left above -ground. They must turn the tent into a palanquin once again, and manage -as Hal had done before them. - -One and all agreed if the Maoris had been using threatening language to -the suffering man's boy, they could not go their ways and leave him -behind in the Maoris' country. "No, no," was passed from lip to lip, -and they took their way to the hill. - -Mr. Hirpington was himself again, and his geniality soon melted the -frost amongst his new friends. - -"So you have carried him blankets and food?" they said; and the -heartiness of the "yes" with which he responded made them think a little -better of him. - -The steep was climbed. Mr. Lee heard the steady tramp approaching, and -waked up Hal. - -"Humph!" remarked the foremost man, as he caught sight of Hal. "I -thought you said you brought them food." - -"Are you sure you did not eat it all by the way?" asked another of Mr. -Hirpington. - -"Look at that poor scarecrow!" cried a third, as they scaled the hill -and drew together as if loath to enter the gloom of the shadow flung by -those tremendous trees. They gazed upwards at the giant branches, and -closed ranks. More than one hand was pointing to the whitened skeleton. - -"Do you see that?" and a general movement showed the inclination to draw -back, one man slowly edging his way behind another. It left the captain -in the forefront. Mr. Lee lifted a feeble hand. - -"Oh, it is all right; there he is!" exclaimed the man of the sea, less -easily daunted by the eerie qualms which seemed to rob his comrades of -their manhood. - -"We've come to fetch you home, old boy," he added, bending over Mr. Lee -and asking for his sons. "Have you not two?" - -"Yes, I've a brace of them," said the injured man, "Edwin, where is -Edwin?" - -"Edwin and Cuthbert," repeated the captain. "I have something to tell -you about them. They are just two of the boldest and bravest little -chaps I ever met with. If my mates were here they would tell you the -same. But they have followed the fall of mud, and gone across the hills -by Taupo. I was too footsore for the march, and so kept company with -these surveying fellows." - -The said fellows had rallied, and were grouped round Mr. Hirpington, who -was pointing out the route they must take to reach the valley farm. - -Two of the men started to carry their baggage to Mr. Hirpington's boat, -intending to row to the ford and wait there for their companions. The -canvas was taken down from the trees. Mr. Lee was bound to his board -once more and laid within the ample folds, and slid rather than carried -gently down the steep descent. The puzzle remained how one old man and -two boys ever got him to the top alive. The party was large enough to -divide and take turns at the carrying, and the walk was long enough and -slow enough to give the captain plenty of opportunity to learn from Mr. -Hirpington all he wanted to know about Mr. Lee and his boys. He gave -him in return a picture of the deserted coast. "Every man," he said, -"was off to the hills when my little craft went down beneath the -earthquake wave. It was these young lads' forethought kept the beacon -alight when the night overran the day. They saw us battling with the -waves, and backed their cart into the sea to pick us up. Mere boys, -they had to tie themselves to the cart, sir. Think of that." - -Mr. Hirpington was thinking, and it made him look very grave. What had -he been doing in the midst of the widespread calamity? Not once had he -asked himself poor Audrey's question, but he asked it now as the captain -went on: "A shipwrecked sailor, begging his way to the nearest port, has -not much in his power to help another. But I will find out a man who -both can and will. I mean old Bowen. He is one of our wealthiest -sheep-owners, and he stands indebted to these two lads on the same count -as I do, for his grandson was with me." - -"His run is miles away from here," said Mr. Hirpington. "You cannot -walk so far. Look out for some of Feltham's shepherds riding home; they -would give you a lift behind them." - -The party halted at the ford, where Mr. Hirpington found several of his -own roadmen waiting for him. Nga-Hepe had faithfully delivered his -message. - -"Ah!" said Mr. Hirpington, "I knew he would, and I am going to keep my -part of the bargain too. We are always friendly." He turned to Hal, and -explained how he had sent to his mates to meet him at the ford. "Until -they come," he added, "rest and eat, and recover yourself." - -Since the arrival of the boat, Dunter had been getting ready, for he -foresaw an increasing demand for breakfast, and his resources were very -restricted. But he got out the portable oven, lit his fires, not so -much in the yard, correctly speaking, as over it. "Breakfasting the -coach" had given every one at the ford good practice in the art of -providing. When the walking-party arrived they found hot rolls and -steaming coffee awaiting them without stint. It brought the sunshine -into many a rugged face as they voted him the best fellow in the world. - -They circled round the fire to enjoy them. Nobody went down into the -house but Hal, who resigned the care of Mr. Lee somewhat loathly. "I -should have liked to have seen you in your own house before we parted," -he muttered. - -"No, no," said Mr. Lee; "you have done too much already. You will never -be the man again that you have been, I fear." - -The hearty hand-clasp, the look into each other's faces, was not quickly -forgotten by the bystanders. - -The air was full of meetings and partings. Mr. Hirpington was in the -midst of his men. He was bound by his post under government to make the -state of the roads his first care. - -"When will the coach be able to run again?" was the question they were -all debating, as a government inspector was on his way to report on the -state of the hills; for few as yet could understand the nature of the -unparalleled and unprecedented disaster which had overwhelmed them. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII.* - - *WHERO TO THE RESCUE.* - - -The busy sounds of trampling feet, the many voices breaking the silence -of the past days, roused Edwin effectually, and then he discovered that -the door of the room in which he had slept resisted his most strenuous -efforts to open it. - -He called to Dunter to release him. No reply. A louder shout, -accompanied by a sturdy kick at the immovable door, gave notice of his -growing impatience. The kaka, which had been watching his determined -efforts with exceeding interest, set up its cry of "Hoke, hoke!" - -"We are caged, my bird," said Edwin; "both of us caged completely." - -His eye wandered round in search of any outlet in vain. All his -experiences since the night of the eruption had taught him to look to -himself, and he turned to the window. It was securely shuttered and -apparently barred. - -"How strange!" he thought, as a sudden shock of earthquake made the iron -walls around him rattle and vibrate, as if they too were groaning in -sympathetic fear. - -The kaka flew to him for protection, and strove to hide its head. -Another tremor all around sent it cowering to the floor. Edwin stooped -to pick it up, and saw that the thin sheet of iron which formed the -partition between that room and the next had started forward. He found -the knife which Dunter had left him, and widened the crack. He could -slip his hand through it now. The walls were already twisted with the -shocks they had sustained. He got hold of the iron with both hands, and -exerting all his strength bent it up from the floor. His head went -through. Another vigorous tug, another inch was gained; his shoulders -followed, and he wriggled through at last in first-rate worm fashion. - -"It is something to be thin," thought Edwin, as he shook himself into -order on the other side. He was in another bedroom, exactly similar to -the one he had left. Both were designed for the reception of "the -coach;" but door and window were securely fastened, as in the other -room. The sounds which had awakened him must have been the noise -accompanying some departure, for he thought he could distinguish the -splash of oars in the water, and words of leave-taking. But the voices -were strange voices, which he had never heard before, and then all was -profoundly still. - -It dawned on Edwin now that perhaps he had not been shut in by accident, -but that something had occurred. He was getting very near the truth, -for he recalled Nga-Hepe's threats, and wondered whether friend or foe -had made him a prisoner. - -Well, then, was it wise to keep making such a row to get out? He began -to see the matter in a different light. He lay down on the bed in the -second room, determined to listen and watch; but in his worn-out -condition sleep overcame him a second time. - -The kaka missed his society, and followed to perch on his pillow. He -was awakened at last by its scream. The window was open, and the bird -was fluttering in and out in a playful endeavour to elude a hand put -through to catch it. Edwin was springing upright, when his recent -experiences reminded him of the need of caution. But the movement had -been heard, and a voice, which he knew to be Whero's, said softly, -"Edwin, my brother, are you awake?" - -"Awake? yes! What on earth is the matter?" retorted Edwin. - -"Hush!" answered Whero, looking in and laying a finger on his own lips. -"Come close to the window." - -Edwin obeyed as noiselessly as he could. Whero held out his hand to -help him on to the sill. - -"Escape," he whispered; "it is for your life." - -His hands were as cold as ice, and his teeth were set. Edwin hesitated; -but the look on Whero's face as he entreated him not to linger -frightened him, already wrought up to a most unnatural state of -suspicion by the tormenting feeling of being shut in against his will. - -Any way, he was not going to lose a chance of getting out. It was too -unbearable to be caged like a bird. He took Whero's hand and scrambled -up. The Maori boy looked carefully around. All was dark and still. -Again he laid his finger on his lips. - -"Trust in me, my brother," he murmured, pointing to his canoe, which was -waiting in the shadow of the rushes. - -"Where are we going?" asked Edwin under his breath. - -"To safety," answered Whero. "Wait until we are out of hearing, and I -will tell you all." - -He grasped Edwin's hand, and led him down the bank to the shingly bed of -the river. - -"Stop a minute," interposed Edwin, not quite sure that it was wise to -trust himself altogether to the guidance of the young Maori. "I wish I -could catch sight of Dunter. I want a word with him, and then I'll go." - -"No, no!" reiterated Whero, dragging him on as he whispered, "No one -here knows your danger. It is my father who is coming to take your -life; but I will save you. Come!" - -Edwin lay down in the bottom of the canoe as Whero desired, and was -quickly covered over with rushes by the dusky hands of his youthful -deliverer. A low call brought the kaka to Whero's shoulder, and keeping -his canoe well in the shadows, he rowed swiftly down stream. - -[Illustration: ANOTHER FLIGHT.] - -The brilliant starshine enabled him to steer clear of the floating -dangers--the driftwood and the stones--which impeded their course -continually. - -"Are you hungry?" asked Whero, bending low to his companion. But Edwin -answered, "No." - -"Then listen," continued the excited boy. "My father has found this -Lawford, the rabbiter you told me about. He was with one of the biggest -gangs of pakehas, going back from the hills, every man with his spade. -Had my father raised his club, it would have been quickly beaten out of -his hand among so many. He knew that, and the pakehas talked fair. But -this Lawford did not say as you say. He made my father believe it was -you who asked him to go with you to the roadside, and dig between the -white pines, to find a bag you had dropped in the mud; and so he dug -down until you found it and took it away. You then went alone to the -ruins at the ford, and he thinks you hid it in the hayloft. It was -before the fordmaster and his people had returned. My father wanted -these pakehas to come with him, and take it from you; but they all -declared that was against the law of the pakehas. They would go their -ways and tell their chief, who would send his soldiers for you. It was -but a bag of talk. My father has been watching round the ford, waiting -for them, yet they have not come." - -"But, Whero," interposed Edwin, "Nga-Hepe cannot be sure that I was at -the ford, for it was at the valley farm that he met me and took the -horse." - -"Does my father sleep on the track of an enemy?" asked Whero. "Has he -no one to help him? My grandfather was following in the bush when he -took the horse from you. The one went after Lawford, the other stayed -to watch your steps. My grandfather saw you enter the ford; he saw the -master leave it alone. A Maori eye has been upon the place ever since. -They know you have not come out of the hole where you went in. Nothing -has been done. What were the fordmaster's promises? what were Lawford's? -A bag of talk. My father feels himself the dupe of the pakeha. A -geyser is boiling in his veins. If you meet him you fall by his club. -He will wait until the day breaks; he will wait no longer. At nightfall -the old man, my grandfather, rowed back to the little kainga our people -have made on the bank of the river." - -"A kainga?" interrupted Edwin, breathlessly. "What is a kainga?" - -"That is our name for a little village without a wall," explained Whero, -hurrying on. "He came. He called the men together. They have gone up -with clubs and spears. They will come upon the ford-house with the -dawn, and force their way in to find the bag. The master cannot resist -so many. O Edwin, my brother, I said I saved my kaka when they would -have killed it; shall I not save my friend? I wanted to go with the men, -that I might tell my father again how you have stood by me. And should -I not stand by you? But my mother, Marileha, held me back. My -grandfather kept on saying, 'I knew from the first it was the farmer's -son who had robbed you. Was it he who helped us out of the mud? I saw -him not. It was Ottley, the good coachman. Have we not all eyes?' 'Go -not with them,' said my mother. 'What is talk? Your father will make -you the same answer. Do they know the young pakeha as we do?' So I -listened to my mother, and we made our plan together. I knew our men -could not conceal themselves in the water; they must all be hidden in -the bush. I filled my canoe with rushes. I rowed after them up the -river, gliding along in the shadows. I climbed up the bank, under the -row of little windows at the back of the ford-house, and listened. I -heard my kaka scream, and I guessed it was with you. I was sure you -would take care of it. I could see the windows were all cracked and -broken with the earthquakes. The shocks come still so often I knew I -had only to wait, and when I felt the ground tremble under my feet I -smashed the window. Nobody noticed the noise when everything around us -was rocking and shaking. You know the rest. We have an hour before us -yet. I am rowing for the coast as hard as I can. Once on board a -steamer no Maori can touch you. I have plenty of money to pay for our -passage. My grandfather came to see me when I was at school, and gave -me a lot to persuade me to stay. He was taking his money to the -Auckland bank, for fear another tana should come. Then we can go and -live among the pakehas." - -"But where shall we go?" asked Edwin, struck with the ability with which -Whero had laid his plan, and the ease with which he was carrying it out. -"I only wish I could have spoken to Dunter or Mr. Hirpington before we -came away; for what will they think of me?" - -"Think!" repeated Whero; "let them think. Could I betray my father to -them? Our hearts are true to each other. We have given love for love. -Would they believe it? No. Would they have let you come away with me, -Nga-Hepe's son? No. One word, my brother, and you would have been -lost. A steamer will take us to school. They told me at Tauranga there -was a school in every great town on the island, so it does not matter -where it lands us; the farther off the better." - -Marileha was watching for them on the bank. Whero waved his arms in -signal of success, and shot swiftly past in the cold gray light of the -coming day. - -The eastern sky was streaked with red when the first farm-house was -sighted. Should they stop and beg for bread? Whero was growing -exhausted with continued exertion. He lifted his paddle from the water, -and Edwin sat upright; then caution whispered to them both, "Not yet! -wait a little longer." So they glided on beneath the very window of the -room where Mrs. Hirpington was sleeping. One half-hour later she might -have seen them pass. - -The ever-broadening river was rolling now between long wooded banks. -Enormous willows dipped their weeping boughs into the stream, and a -bridge became visible in the distance as the morning sun shone out. The -white walls of many a settler's home glistened through the light gauzy -haze which hung above the frosted ground. Whero's aching arms had -scarcely another lift left in them, when they perceived a little -river-steamer with its line of coal-barges in tow. - -Should they hail it and ask to be taken on board? No; it was going the -wrong way. But Edwin ventured, now that the hills were growing shadowy -in the dim distance, to sit upright and take his turn with the paddle, -whilst Whero rested. - -How many miles had they come? how many farther had they yet to go? - -They watched the settlements on either side of the river with hungry -eyes, until they found themselves near a range of farm-buildings which -looked as if they might belong to some well-to-do colonist, and were in -easy hail of the river-bank. They ran the canoe aground, and walked up -to the house to beg for the bread so freely given to all comers through -the length and breadth of New Zealand. - -Invigorated by the hearty meal willingly bestowed upon a Maori boy on -his way to school, they returned to the canoe; but the effort to reach -the coast was beyond their utmost endeavour. Edwin felt they were now -out of the reach of all pursuit, and might safely go ashore and rest, -for Whero was ready to fall asleep in the canoe. - -They were looking about for a landing-place, when, to his utter -amazement, Edwin heard Cuthbert shouting to him from the deck of one of -the little steamers plying up and down the river. - -"By all that is marvellous," exclaimed Edwin, "if that isn't my old -Cuth!" - -He turned to his companion, too far under the influence of the dustman -to quite understand what was taking place around him. - -Cuthbert's shout of "Stop, Edwin, stop!" was repeated by a deep, manly -voice. The motion of the steamer ceased. Edwin brought the canoe -alongside. - -"Where are you bound for?" asked his old acquaintance the captain of the -coaster. - -"Come on board," shouted Cuthbert. - -The captain repeated his inquiry. - -Whero opened his sleepy eyes, and answered, "Christchurch." - -"I am a Christchurch boy," cried another voice from the deck of the -steamer. "But the Christchurch schools are all closed for the winter -holidays." - -There were hurried questions exchanged between the brothers after father -and Effie. But the answers were interrupted by the appearance of Mr. -Bowen. - -"Pay your rower," he shouted to Edwin, "and join our party. I am taking -your little brother and sister home, for I am going to the hills to make -inquiries into the state of distress." - -Before Edwin could reply, Whero, with a look at the old identity as if -he defied the whole world to interfere with him, was whispering to -Edwin,-- - -"These men are fooling us. They will not take us to Christchurch. They -are going the wrong way." - -Edwin was as much alarmed as Whero at the thought of going back; but he -knew Mr. Bowen had no authority to detain him against his will. - -"Our errand admits of no delay," he answered, as he resigned the paddle -to Whero. - -The canoe shot forward. - -"Good-bye! good-bye!" cried Edwin. - -Sailors and passengers were exclaiming at their reckless speed, for -Whero was rowing with all his might. The number of the boats and barges -increased as they drew nearer the coast. - -"Lie down again amongst the rushes," entreated Whero, "or we may meet -some other pakeha who will know your English face." - -Their voyage was almost at its end. They were in sight of the goal. - -Black, trailing lines of smoke, from the coasting-steamers at the mouth -of the river, flecked the clear brilliancy of the azure sky. - -Edwin was as much afraid as Whero of another chance encounter. Audrey -might turn up to stop him. Some one might be sending her home by water, -who could say? Another of the shipwrecked sailors might be watching for -a coaster to take him on board. So he lay down in the bottom of the -canoe as if he were asleep, and Whero pulled the rushes over him. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX.* - - *MET AT LAST.* - - -The boys were recovering their equanimity, when the stiff sea-breeze -blowing in their faces scattered the rushes and sent them sailing down -the stream. - -Whero drew his canoe to the bank as they came to a quiet nook where -rushes were growing abundantly, that he might gather more. - -Whero was out of his latitude, in a _terra incognita_, where he knew not -how to supply the want of a dinner. How could he stop to discover the -haunts of the wild ducks to look for their eggs? How could he reach the -cabbage in the top of those tall and graceful ti trees, which shook -their waving fronds in the wintry breezes? Ah! if it had been summer, -even here he would not have longed in vain. His bundle of rushes was -under his arm, when he noticed a hollow willow growing low to the -river-side. A swarm of bees in the recent summer had made it their -home, and their store of winter honeycomb had filled the trunk. Swarms -of bees gone wild had become so frequent near the English settlements, -wild honey was often found in large quantities. But to Whero it was a -rare treat. He was far too hungry to be able to pass it by. He -scrambled up the bank, and finding the bees were dead or torpid with the -cold, he began to break off great pieces of the comb, and lay them on -his rushes to carry away. - -As he was thus engaged a man came through the clustering ti trees and -asked him to give him a bit. - -Whero was ready enough to share his spoils with the stranger, for there -was plenty. As he turned to offer the piece he had just broken off, he -saw he was an ill-looking man, with his hat slouched over his eyes, -carrying a roll of pelts and a swag at the end of a stick, which had -evidently torn a hole through the shoulder of the wretched old coat the -man was wearing. - -"Much craft on the river here?" asked the man. "Any barges passing that -would take a fellow down to the coast?" - -"I am a stranger here," answered Whero; "I do not know." As he spoke, -his quick eye detected the stains of the hateful blue volcanic mud on -the man's dirty clothes. - -"I'll be off," he thought. "Who are you? You are from the hills, -whoever you are." - -He gave him another great piece of the honeycomb, for fear he should -follow him to ask for more. - -"That is so old," objected the man; "look how dark it is. Give me a -better bit." - -But he took it notwithstanding, and tried to put it in his ragged -pocket. The holes were so large it fell through. - -"There is plenty more in the tree," said Whero. "Why do you not go and -help yourself?" He took up his rushes and walked quickly to the canoe. - -Edwin was making a screen for his face with the few remaining rushes. -Whero saw that he was looking eagerly through them, not at the honeycomb -he was bringing, but at the man on the bank. - -"Do you know him?" asked Whero. - -"Yes, yes; it is Lawford," answered Edwin, under his breath. "Look, he -has got his rabbit-skins and his swag. How careful he is over it! He -has set his foot on it whilst he gets the honey." - -The canoe was completely hidden by the tall tufts of bulrush growing -between it and the willow, so they could watch unseen. The man was -enjoying the honeycomb immensely. He was choosing out the best pieces. -Whero gave Edwin the kaka, lest it should betray them. - -"You are sure it is Lawford?" asked Whero. - -"Yes, quite," replied Edwin, beginning to eat. - -The best of the honeycomb was higher up in the hollow trunk, where the -rain could not wash out its sweetness. As Lawford was stretching up his -arm to get at it, the sweet-brier, now so plentiful in New Zealand, that -was growing about its roots caught the ragged old coat. They heard the -rent; something fell out of the pocket on the other side. - -He picked it up hastily, shaking off the dirt into which it had fallen. -"It is my father's belt!" exclaimed Edwin. Whero was over the side of -the canoe in a moment, and crawling through the bed of rushes with the -noiseless swiftness of a wild animal watching its prey. - -He saw Lawford unpack what New Zealanders call a swag--that is, a piece -of oil-cloth provided with straps, which takes the place of knapsack or -portmanteau amongst travellers of Lawford's description. If a man has -not even got a swag, he is reckoned a sundowner in colonial eyes. Swags -are always to be bought at the smallest stores. No difficulty about -that. As Whero drew nearer, he saw the swag was a new one. Everything -else about the man looked worn out. - -Lawford was unpacking it on the ground, throwing suspicious glances over -his shoulder as he did so; but his recent companion seemed to have -vanished. He stood up and looked all round him, but there was no one to -be seen. - -He took out a small bundle packed up in flax-leaves, which he began -slowly to unwind. - -Did not Whero know the bag which his own mother had woven? Could -anything produce those tell-tale stains but the hateful mud from which -it had been dug up? - -Lawford wrapped the belt round the bag, and bound the flax-leaves over -both as before. When he began to strap up the swag, Whero crept back to -the canoe. His eyes were ablaze with passion. - -"Pull off your coat," he whispered, "and leave it in the rushes. Take -mine, or he will know you." - -Edwin eagerly complied. - -"Sleep deep; lie on your face!" whispered Whero, covering him over with -the rushes he had brought. Then, before Edwin had the least idea of what -he was purposing, Whero pushed out his canoe into the middle of the -river, and paddled quickly to a handy landing-place a little farther on. -He ran up the bank shouting to Lawford, "If you want a boat to go down -river to meet a coaster, I'll row you in my canoe. But you will have to -pay me." - -"You would not work without that if you are a Maori, I know," retorted -the other, taking out a well-worn purse. - -"Come along," shouted Whero; "that's a' right." The unsuspecting -Lawford took his seat in the canoe, and gave Edwin an unwary kick. - -"Who have you got here?" he asked. - -"A chum asleep," answered Whero, indifferently, as he stroked his kaka. - -Edwin was feeling anything but indifferent. He knew not how to lie -still. "If we are not dead unlucky," he thought, "we shall get all -back--Nga-Hepe's bag, and father's belt too. We must mind we do not -betray ourselves. If we can manage to go on board the same steamer, -when we are right out to sea I'll tell the captain all; and we will give -Lawford in charge as he lands." Such was Edwin's plan; but he could not -be sure that Whero's was the same. He dare not exchange a look or sign; -"for," he said to himself, "if Lawford catches sight of me, it is all -over." - -They passed another little steamer going up the river, with its -coal-barge in tow. - -Edwin felt as if Audrey's sedate face would be looking down upon him -from its deck, but he was wrong. - -"Nothing is certain but the unforeseen," he sighed; but he remembered -his part, and the sigh became a snore, which he carefully repeated at -intervals, for Lawford's benefit. - -He little thought how soon his words would be fulfilled. The steamer -was some way ahead, and Whero was making towards it steadily. The barge -behind them was lessening in the distance, when the Maori boy fixed his -fingers like a vice in the strap of Lawford's swag, and upset his canoe. - -Whero knew that Edwin could swim well, and that Lawford was unused to -the water. Whero had detected that by the awkward way in which he -stepped into the canoe. - -The two struggled in the water for the possession of the swag. At last -the man relinquished his hold, and Whero swam to shore triumphantly, -leaving him to drown. - -"He shall not drown!" cried Edwin, hastening towards him with vigorous -strokes; but before he could reach the spot, Lawford had sunk. Edwin -swam round and round, watching for him to rise. - -It was a moment of anguish so intense he thought life, reason, all -within him, would give way before the dreadful question, "What have I -been? An accomplice in this man's death--all unknowing, it is true; but -that cannot save him. Oh! it does matter," he groaned, "what kind of -fellows a boy is forced to take for his chums." - -The drowning man rose to the surface. Edwin grasped him by the coat. -For a little while they floated with the current, until Lawford's weight -began to drag Edwin down. - -"Better die with him than live to know I have killed him," thought -Edwin. One hurried upward glance into the azure sky brought back the -remembrance of One who is ever present, ever near, and strong to save us -to the uttermost. This upheld him. A tree came floating by; he caught -at its branches. Lawford had just sense enough to follow his example and -cling for dear life to the spreading arms. - -A bargee, unloading his freight of coal upon the bank, perceived their -danger, and swam out with a rope. He threw it to Lawford, but he missed -it. A second was flung from the barge, and the noose at the end of it -caught among the branches flapping up and down in the water. Men's -lives were at stake, but as the value of the drift-wood would well repay -its capture, they hauled it in with the bold young swimmer clinging to -its boughs; for the first of the watermen who came to their help had -seized Lawford, who relinquished his hold on the tree to snatch at the -rope he brought him. - -The two men swam to the barge. Edwin was drawn in to shore. He -scrambled up the bank and looked around him for Lawford. - -He saw the rabbiter half lying on the deck of the barge, panting with -rage and fear, and shouted to him, "Safe! all safe!" - -But Lawford answered with a bitter imprecation on the son of the -cannibal, who had purposely flung him over, tossed him like a bone to -the hungry sharks. - -"Ask yourself why," retorted Edwin. "And what might not I have done to -you, if I had never heard such words as, 'Neither do I condemn thee: go, -and sin no more'?" - -"Come," interposed the waterman to Lawford, "shut up. Such language as -this is wonderfully unbecoming from the mouths of fellows scarce -snatched back from a watery grave, and we don't care to hear it. Say -what you will to the young 'un, he made a bold fight with the tide to -save you. Let him alone." - -"Where were you bound for?" said the bargee aside to Edwin, as the boy -poured out his gratitude for their timely assistance. - -"I wanted to take a passage on board the steamer for Christchurch, and a -Maori boy was rowing me down to meet it. This man was in the same -canoe, and had robbed the boy who was rowing us. In the struggle -between them the canoe was upset." - -"Go on with him, then," advised the bargee, "and give him in charge when -he lands." - -"No," answered Edwin resolutely, "for the boy recovered his own. But -this man is a bad one, and I would rather stay where I am than be in his -company another hour." - -"Run off, then," returned the bargee kindly; "run until you are dry, and -you will take no harm. As for this fellow, we will ship him off to the -South Island, if that is where he wants to go." - -Edwin wrung the bargee's horny hand, and followed his counsel with all -speed. Lawford's jeering laugh was ringing in his ears. - -"He thinks I am running away from him; if he fancies I am afraid, he -makes a mistake, that is all," reflected Edwin, racing onward. - -But where was Whero? A run of half-a-mile brought Edwin back to the -river-brink again, but nearer to the spot where the canoe was upset. -Whero had recovered it, and was looking about for his friend. Edwin -could see his tiny "dug-out" zigzagging round the boulders, and still -rushing seawards, as he paused to reconnoitre a leafless bush on the -water's edge, which seemed to bear a fancied resemblance to the figure -of a crouching boy. Edwin pulled off his jacket and waved it high in -the air. He threw up his arms. He shouted. He did everything he could -think of to attract Whero's attention. But his back was towards him. -All his signals seemed in vain, but not quite; for the kaka was swinging -high up among the top-most branches of an enormous willow near the scene -of the upset. From such an elevation it espied Edwin, and recognizing -Whero's jacket, which he was waving flag-like over his head, it swooped -down upon him with an angry scream, and seizing the jacket by the -sleeve, tugged at it with all its might. If Whero could not distinguish -the shout of his friend from the rush of the water, the doleful "Hoke" -of his bird could not be mistaken, and Edwin soon saw him rowing swiftly -towards them. - -"What for?" demanded Whero; "what for go bother about a thief? What is -he good for? Throw him over, and have done with him." - -"Ah!" retorted Edwin, "but we never should have done with him. The life -we had let him lose would have lain like a terrible weight on us, -growing heavier and heavier as we too drew nearer to the grave. For -Christ himself refuses to lift the murderer's load. But you do not know; -you are not to blame, as I should have been." - -The overmastering feelings which prompted Edwin to say this shot from -his eyes and quivered in his voice, and Whero, swayed by a force he -could not understand, reaching him only by words, yielded to the -influence of the light thus vibrating from soul to soul. - -"Yes," he said, reflectively, "there is something greater than killing, -and I want the greatest things." - - - - - *CHAPTER XX.* - - *JUST IN TIME.* - - -"What an ass Lawford must have been not to put on father's belt! If he -had, we could not have got it away from him," said Edwin, as the two -seated themselves on the sunny bank and unpacked the swag. Whero took -out the precious bag, slung it round his own neck, and concealed it -under his shirt. Edwin claimed his father's belt, and as he shook off -the mud and dirt which had accumulated upon it during its sojourn in -Lawford's pocket, he saw why the man had been unable to wear it. In his -haste to get it off Mr. Lee whilst he lay unconscious, he had not waited -to unbuckle it, for fear Hal should see him. He had taken out his -pocket-knife and ripped it open. This helped to get it into his -possession, and helped him to lose it too. The apparent gain was -nothing but the earnest-money of the self-sought calamity which drove -him a beggar from the gangway of the San Francisco mail before many -months were over. - -As the boys weighed the weight of coin in their hands, they nodded -significantly at each other. No wonder it wore Lawford's old pockets -into holes before the end of his journey. Reluctant as he must have -been, he was forced to buy his swag at one or other of the would-be -townships, with their fine names, which dot the lower reaches of the -bush road. They turned the poor unlucky bit of oil-cloth over and over -with contempt and loathing, and finally kicked it into the river. Edwin -folded his father's belt together, and once more resuming his own -jacket--to the great satisfaction of the kaka--he changed the belt into -a breastplate, and buttoned his jacket tightly over it. - -To get back to the ford as quickly as they could was now their chief -desire. It was aggravating--it was enough to make a fellow feel mad all -over--to think that Effie and Cuthbert and the Bowens had passed them -just that little bit too soon. Edwin grew loud in his regrets. Audrey -would have called it crying over spilt milk. He could do nothing but -think of Audrey and her philosophical proverbs. To practise the -patience which was their outcome was a little more difficult. To sit -down where they were and wait for the next steamer up stream to help -them on their way was tantalizing indeed, when nobody could tell what -might be taking place at the ford at that very moment. - -But they had not long to wait, for the sight of a Maori boy, a Hau-Hau -from the King country, in the heart of the hills, had a special -attraction for every New Zealander coming from the coast. All were -breathless for the particulars of the dire eruption, which had -overwhelmed their sunny vales, and changed their glassy lakes to Stygian -pools. - -Not a sailor who could pull a rope, not a passenger lounging on its tiny -deck, would willingly forego the chance of hearing something definite -and detailed. The steamer stopped, and the man at the wheel asked -eagerly for news, any more news from the doomed hills, looming gaunt and -gray in the dim distance. - -No sooner did they touch the deck than the two boys found themselves the -centre of an earnest questioning group, athirst for the latest -intelligence. It was a grave responsibility for both of them. They -chose to remain on deck, keeping as near to the master of the vessel as -they could without attracting attention. For each one knew that he was -carrying his father's hoard, and their recent experiences made them -regard the rough appearance of most of the men around them with -mistrust. - -It was a secret belief with both the boys that they were safer alone in -their canoe; but Whero's strength was expended. He leaned on Edwin's -arm for support, and was only restrained from falling into one of his -cat-like dozes by the fear that another thievish hand might steal away -his treasure while he slept. They could not return as they came; rest -and food must be had. - -A coil of rope provided the one, and the steward promised the other. -But before the boys were permitted to taste the dinner so freely -offered, Edwin had to describe afresh the strange and startling -phenomena appearing on that night of terror, which rumour with her -double tongue could scarcely magnify. He described them as only an -eye-witness, with the horror of the night still over him, could describe -them; and the men stood round him spell-bound. All the while his words -were painting the vivid scenes, his thoughts were debating the very -practical question, "Ought I, or ought I not, to spend some of father's -money, now I have got it back, and buy more meat and flour and cheese to -carry home?" He thought of the widespread dearth, and he knew that the -little store he had found unhurt at the valley farm might all be gone on -his return, and yet he was afraid to venture with the wealth of gold he -had about him into doubtful places. No, he dare not risk it again. -They must trust for to-morrow's bread. - -When they quitted the steamer the short wintry day had long passed its -noon, and the wind blew cold around them as they returned to the open -boat. Edwin was rowing now; for when they drew nearer to the hills, both -he and Whero agreed that he must lie down again beneath the rushes. The -kaka had hidden its head under its wing when the exchange was made. The -weary Maori boy could scarcely make his way against roaring wind and -rushing water. They were long in getting as far as the ravine where the -tiny kainga nestled. - -Whero moored his canoe in a little cleft of the rock, where it was -concealed from view, and landed alone. Edwin's heart beat fast when he -heard light steps advancing to the water's edge. His hand was cold as -the ice congealing on the duck-weed as a dusky face peered round the -ledge of rock and smiled. It was Marileha. - -"Good food make Ingarangi boy anew," she said, putting into Edwin's hand -a steaming kumara, or purple-coloured Maori potato. Whilst he was -eating it Whero brought round a larger "dug-out," used now by his -father. It was piled with savoury-smelling roasted pig, newly-baked -cakes of dirty-looking Maori wheat, with roasted wekas or wingless -moor-hens hanging in pairs across a stick. Like a wise woman, Marileha -had spent the day in providing the savoury meat much loved by one she -wanted to propitiate. - -"They have not yet come back," said Whero, beckoning to Edwin to join -him in the larger canoe, where he could be more easily concealed beneath -the mats on which the provisions were laid. - -"We are going to take them their supper," added Whero. "When the men -are eating I can get my father to hear me; then I put this bag in his -hands and tell him all. Then, and not till then, will it be safe for -you to be seen." - -"The Ingarangi boy lies safely here," whispered Marileha, smiling, happy -in her womanly device for keeping the peace. "My skirt shall cover him. -I leave not the canoe. You, Whero, shall take from my hand and carry to -your father the supper we bring to himself and his people." - -Edwin guessed what Marileha's anticipation might embrace when he found -his pillow was a bundle of carefully-prepared flax fibres, enveloping -little bunches of chips--the splints and bandages of the bush. Edwin had -a vision of broken heads and gaping spear-thrusts, and a ride in an -ambulance after the battle. What had taken place that day? - -But the question was shortly answered. They were not bound for the -lake, or the ruins of the Rota Pah, but the nearer wreck of the -ford-house. - -His visions grew in breadth and in detail; smoke and fire were darkening -their background when the canoe stopped at the familiar boating-stairs. -What did he see? A party of dusky-browed and brawny-armed fellows hard -at work clearing away the last remains of the overturned stables. - -Mr. Hirpington, giving away pipes and tobacco with a lavish hand, was -walking in and out among them, praising the thoroughness of their work, -and exhorting them to continue. - -"Pull them down," he was repeating. "We will not leave so much as a -stick or a stone standing. If the bag is there we will have it. We -must find it." - -The emphasis on the "will" and the "must" called forth the ever-ready -smiles of the Maori race. Mother and son were radiant. - -With a basket of cakes in his hand and a joint of roast-pig on a mat on -his head, Whero marched up the landing-stairs, and went in amongst his -countrymen as they threw down their tools and declared their work was -done. - -He was talking fast and furiously in his native tongue, with many -outbursts of laughter at the expense of his auditors. But neither Edwin -nor Mr. Hirpington could understand what he was saying, until he flung -the bag at his father's feet with a shout of derision--the fifth -commandment being unknown in Maori-land. - -Nga-Hepe took up the bag and changed it from hand to hand. - -Kakiki Mahane leaned forward and felt its contents. "Stones and dirt," -he remarked, choosing English words to increase the impression. - -"Sell it to me, then," put in Mr. Hirpington. "What shall I give you for -it? three good horses?" - -He held out his hand to receive the bag of many adventures, and then the -cunning old chief could be the first to bid Nga-Hepe open it and see. -But the remembrance of the tana was too vivid in his son-in-law's mind -for him to wish to display his secreted treasure before the greedy eyes -of his tribe. He was walking off to deposit it in Marileha's lap, when -Mr. Hirpington intercepted him, saying in a tone of firm control and -good-natured patience, in the happy proportion which gave him his -influence over his unmanageable neighbours: "Come now, that is not fair. -Untie the bag, and let us see if it has come back to you all right or -not. You have pulled down my stables to find it; who is to build them -up again?" - -"Give us four horses for the loss of time," said one of the Maoris. - -"Agreed, if you will give me five for the mischief you have done me," he -answered readily. - -"You can't get over him," said Nga-Hepe. "It is of no use talking." - -Kneeling down on the landing-stairs, he opened his treasure on his -wife's now greasy silk, displaying sharks' teeth, gold, bank-notes, -greenstone, kauri gum--every precious thing of which New Zealand could -boast. They began to count after their native manner. - -Mr. Hirpington stepped aside to Kakiki. "You took my advice and -Ottley's: you carried your money to the Auckland bank. Make Nga-Hepe do -the same." - -"Before another moon is past I will," the old chief answered, grasping -the hand of his trusty counsellor, who replied,-- - -"It may not be lost and found a second time." - -"True, it may not," said the old gray-beard, "if, as he meant to do, he -has killed the finder." - -Mr. Hirpington started and turned pale. - -"He has not killed the finder," said Marileha, rising with the dignity -of a princess; and taking Edwin by the hand, she led him up to Mr. -Hirpington. The "Thank God" which trembled on his lips was deep as low. -But aloud he shouted, "Dunter, Dunter! here is your bird flown back to -his cage. Chain him, collar him, keep him this time, if you brick him -in." - -Dunter's hand was on the boy's shoulder in a moment. Edwin held out his -to Nga-Hepe, who took the curling feathers from his own head-dress to -stick them in Edwin's hair. The boy was stroking the kaka's crimson -breast. He lifted up his face and shot back the smile of triumph in -Whero's eyes, as Dunter hauled him away, exclaiming, "Now I've got you, -see if I don't keep you!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI.* - - *THE VALLEY FARM.* - - -Edwin laughed a merry laugh as Mr. Hirpington and his man led him away -between them. A ladder had been found in the pulling down of the -stables. It greatly assisted the descent into the "dungeonized" -kitchen, as Edwin called it. But within, everything was as dirty and -comfortless as before. - -"They laugh who win," he whispered, undoing a single button of his -jacket, and displaying a corner of the wash-leather belt. "Where is -father?" he asked, looking eagerly along the row of open doors, and -singling out his recent cage as the most comfortable of the little -dormitories. A glance told him it was not without an inhabitant. But -it was Hal's voice which answered from the midst of the blankets, in -tones of intense self-congratulation, "I'm in bed, lad. Think o' that. -Really abed." - -"And mind you keep there," retorted Edwin, looking back to Mr. -Hirpington for a guiding word, as he repeated impatiently, "Where's -father? Has he seen the captain?" - -"Father," echoed Mr. Hirpington, "is safe, safe at home; and we will -follow him there as soon as I get rid of these troublesome guests." - -"Sit down, boy, if you do not mind the mud and cold. Sit down and eat," -said Dunter kindly. He opened the kitchen cupboard, and pointed to some -biscuits and cheese which he had reserved for their own supper. "It is -all they have left us," he sighed. "We have fed them a whole day just to -keep the Queen's peace. We thought they would eat us up when they -marched down on us, clamouring for you and the bag you had stolen from -Nga-Hepe and hidden in our hayloft. But master is up to 'em. 'Well,' -says he, 'if the bag has ever been in my hay-loft, it is there still; -and if it is there, we'll find it. Pull the loft down. Clear out every -stick and stone that is left of my stables, an' welcome.' You see, it -must all be cleared down before we could begin to build up again," added -Dunter, confidentially. - -"It was a happy thought," said Mr. Hirpington, rubbing his hands, "and -it took. I ran myself to set the example, and knocked over the shaky -door-post, and then the work of demolition went forward with a will. -Nothing like a good spell of hard work to cool a man down. Of course -they did not find the bag. But Nga-Hepe's neighbours have found so many -old nails and hooks and hinges they have stuck to their task; they are -at it yet, but the dusk will disperse them. Their excuse is gone. -Still," he went on, "'all is well that ends well.' You might have found -the place a smouldering ash-heap. We know their Maori ways when they -mean to dislodge an English settler. They come as they came last night, -set fire to his house, pull up his fences, and plough up his fields. -The mud preserved me from anything of that sort beginning unawares. -Nothing would burn. We have picked up more than one charred stick, so -they had a try at it; and as for the fences, they are all buried. When -the coast is clear you and I must prepare for a starlight walk through -the bush to your father's farm." - -"Will they molest father?" asked Edwin anxiously. - -"No, no," answered both in a breath. "Your father's farm is on the -other side of the river, not on Hau-Hau ground. It belonged to another -tribe, the Arewas, who are 'friendless,' as we say. We told you your -father was safe if we could but get him home. And so am I," continued -Mr. Hirpington, "for I can always manage my neighbours and appreciate -them too; for they are men at heart, and we like each other. And there -is a vein of honour in Nga-Hepe and his son according to their light -which you may safely trust, yet they are not civilized Englishmen." - -"But Whero will be--" Edwin began; but his bright anticipations for the -future of his Maori friend were cut short by a strange, unearthly -sound--a wild, monotonous chant which suddenly filled the air. As the -dusk fell around them, the Maoris still sitting over Marileha'a supper -had begun to sing to drive away the fairies, which they imagine are in -every dancing leaf and twittering bird. Then, one by one, the canoes -which had brought them there began to fill, and as the swarthy faces -disappeared, silence and loneliness crept over the dismantled ford. - -Nga-Hepe proved his friend's assertions true, for Beauty was honourably -returned. They found him tied by the bridle to the only post on the -premises which had been left standing. Perhaps it had been spared for -the purpose. The gun was loaded, such wraps as Dunter could get -together were all put on, and Edwin and Mr. Hirpington started. The -first step was not a pleasant one--a plunge into the icy river and a -scramble up the opposite bank, from which even Beauty seemed to shrink. -But the gallop over the frosty ground which succeeded took off the -comfortless chill and dried their draggled coats. Mr. Hirpington got -down and walked by Beauty's head, as they felt the gradual descent -beginning, and heard the splash of the rivulet against the stones, and -saw the bright lights from Edwin's home gleam through the evening -shadows. A scant half-hour that almost seemed a year in its reluctance -to slip away, a few more paces, and Beauty drew up at the gateless -enclosure. A bar thrown across kept them outside. A gleeful shout, a -thunderous rain of blows upon the bar, and the impatient stamping of -Beauty's feet brought Cuthbert and Arthur Bowen almost tumbling over one -another to receive them. The welcome sound of the hammer, the stir and -movement all about the place, told Edwin that the good work of -restoration had already begun. The bar went down with a thud. It was -Cuthbert, in his over-joy at seeing his brother, who had banged it to -the ground. The noise brought out the captain. - -"It is a short journey to Christchurch," exclaimed Cuthbert. "How many -miles?" - -"I'm in no mood for arithmetic," retorted Edwin, bounding up the remnant -of a path beside the captain, with Cuthbert grasping him by the other -hand. Arthur Bowen took Beauty by the bridle. - -"I'll see after him," said Mr. Hirpington. - -But young Bowen responded gaily, "Think me too fresh from Greek and -Latin to supper a horse, do you? I'll shoe him too if occasion requires -it, like a true-born New Zealander." - -"Brimful of self-help," retorted Mr. Hirpington; "and, after all, it is -the best help.-- Well, well," he added, as he paused in the doorway, -"to take the measure of our recuperative power would puzzle a stranger. -You beat me hollow." - -He had walked into the sometime workshop; but all the debris of the -recent carpentering had been pushed aside and heaped into a distant -corner, while an iron chimney, with a wooden framework to support it, -had been erected in another. - -"In simply no time," as Mr. Hirpington declared in his astonishment. - -To which the old identity, Mr. Bowen, retorted from the other room, -asking if two men with a hammer to hand and a day before them were to be -expected to do nothing but look at each other. - -Mr. Lee was reposing on a comfortable bed by the blazing fire, with -Effie standing beside him, holding the tin mug from which he was taking -an occasional sip of tea; everything in the shape of earthenware having -gone to smash in the earthquake. The kitten was purring on the corner -of his pillow, stretching out an affectionate paw towards his undefended -eyes. - -"I am reaping the fruit of your good deeds," smiled the sick man. "Is -not this luxury?" - -With a leap and a bound Edwin was at the foot of the bed, holding up the -recovered belt before his father's astonished eyes. - -Audrey peeped out from the door of the store-room. With a piece of -pumice-stone to serve her for a scrubbing-brush, she was endeavouring to -reduce its shelves to cleanliness and order. - -"You here!" exclaimed Edwin, delighted to find themselves all at home -once more; "ready for the four-handed reel which we will dance to-night -if it does not make father's head ache," he declared, escaping from -Effie's embracing arms to Audrey's probing questions about that journey -to Christchurch. - -"Since you must have dropped from the skies yourself to have reached -home at all, it need excite no wonder," he said. - -"Me!" she replied demurely. "Why, I arrived at my father's door, like a -correct young lady, long enough before any of you wanderers and -vagabonds thought of returning. Our good friend the oyster-captain, as -Cuth will call him, sent me a message by one of Mr. Feltham's shepherds -that my father wanted me to nurse him, and I hastened to obey. Mrs. -Feltham lent me her own habit, and I rode home with my groom, behind me, -in grand style for an honest charwoman just released from washing -teacups and beating eggs. My wages taken in kind loaded the panniers of -my steed, and I felt like a bee or an ant returning to the hive with its -store of honey." - -"That is my best medicine," murmured Mr. Lee, as the merry laugh with -which Audrey's words were greeted rang through the house. - -Mr. Lee was slowly counting his remaining coin. He looked at Audrey. -Without another word she led her brothers away, Effie following as a -matter of course, and left him with his friend. - -"Come and look round," whispered Audrey to Edwin. - -"And help," he answered. "It does not square with my ideas to let -strangers put a prop against the falling roof and I stand idle." - -"Conceited boy!" cried Audrey, "to match your skill against our -oyster-captain's." - -She ran lightly down the veranda steps and pointed to the bluff sailor, -hammering at a sheet of iron he had brought from the ruins of the stable -to patch the tumble-down walls of the house. - -With the rough-and-ready skill of a ship-carpenter he had set himself to -the task the moment he arrived. - -"No, no thanks, my boys," he said, as Edwin and Cuthbert looked up at -the strong framework of beam and cross-bar which he had erected in so -brief a space, and burst into exclamations of wonder and delight. - -"It was the one thing we could not do; it was beyond us all," added -Edwin. "It is true, the poles lay ready on the ground and the nails -were rusting on the workshop floor, but the skill that could splice a -beam or shore up a rafter was not ours. There was nobody about us who -could do it." - -"I saw what was wanting when I helped to bring your father home, and it -set my compass, so I came back to do it. A Jack-of-all-trades like me I -knew could make the old place ship-shape in a couple of days, and when -the old gentleman and his grandson saw what I was after, their coats -were off in a moment, and they have worked beside me with a will all -day," replied the captain. - -Finding Mr. Lee awake, Mr. Bowen had taken the opportunity to join the -quiet council over ways and means which he was holding with his friend. - -"Now just look on me as a neighbour, for what is fifty miles in New -Zealand? and remember I do not want anybody to tell me this disaster -leaves you both in an awkward strait. If there is one thing we have -learned in our far-off corner in the Southern Ocean, it is to practise -our duty to our neighbour. Dr. Hector bears me out in thinking that -after such an eruption as this there will probably be peace in the hills -again, perhaps for hundreds of years. No one remembers such an outbreak -of subterranean force, no one ever heard of such an one before, and all -we can do is to help each other. If a loan will be of use to you to -tide over it, just tell me the figure, and I'll write it down. No -counting, Mr. Lee, if you please; I tell you the debtor account is all -on my side. Those little lads--" - -The thud of the captain's hammer drowned his voice. - -"The same feeling," he added, "which lends its ring to that hammer -points my pen, and you must just remember, while you are lying here, how -we all envy you your quartette." - -They could hear the merry laughter from the group in the veranda, where -Audrey was singing,-- - - "What lads ere did our lads will do; - Were I a lad, I would follow him too." - - -Effie gravely expostulated with her sister. "I really do think, Audrey, -we ought to say now what our lads have done." - -"Ah! but I fear they have something more to do," cried Edwin, suddenly -catching his little sister round the waist, not in play but in panic -fear, as he heard the trampling as of many horses crossing the bush. He -whirled her into the house and pushed Audrey after her, as the captain -ceased nailing to listen. - -Arthur Bowen was by Edwin's side as he spoke. With one impulse the bar -was lifted to its place, and the trio retreated to the veranda. A long -train of pack-horses came winding down the valley. - -Which was coming--friend or foe? - -The boys stood very close to each other, ready to bolt in-doors at a -moment's warning. Edwin was at once the bravest and the most -apprehensive. - -"You had better go to father and leave us two to watch," he said to his -brother. - -"But old Cuth won't go," muttered the little fellow, squaring his -shoulders and planting his foot firmly on the ground as he took his -stand between them. - -"Holloa! ho! oh!" shouted a cheery voice they all knew well. - -"It is Ottley! it is Ottley!" was echoed from side to side. - -Down went the bar once more. Out ran the trio, leaping, jumping, -chasing each other over the uneven ground, strewed with the broken arms -from the fallen giants of the neighbouring forest. They raced each -other across the valley in the exuberance of their boyish spirits, let -loose by the momentary relief from the pressure and the fetters which -had been crushing them to earth. - -"Until the coach can run again," said Ottley, as they came up to him -laughing and panting, "I have started a pack-horse team to carry up -supplies. The roadmen are rebuilding their huts, and as I came along -they warned me one and all to avoid the ford to-night. They were -anticipating a bit of warm work up there with their Maori neighbours, -and were holding themselves ready to answer the fordmaster's signal at -any moment. They told me of a crossing lower down the stream. The -fords were sure to shift their places after such a time as we have had. -I found myself so near the valley farm, I turned aside to water my -horses at the rivulet, and rest for the night." - -"Come along," cried Edwin; "father will be glad to see you. But there -has been no scrimmage at the ford; trust Mr. Hirpington for that." - -Ottley paused to release his weary team, and let them slake their thirst -with the so-called water at their feet, which really was not all sulphur -and sludge. - -"I am not sure," he said compassionately, as he brought up the tired -horses one after another, "that the poor animals have not had a worse -time of it than we men; for their food and drink are gone, and it -grieved me to see them dying by the wayside as I came." - -The boys helped him to measure out the corn and hobble them for the -night in the shelter of the valley. - -Then Ottley looked around to ascertain the state of Mr. Lee's new -fields. Three men were lingering by the site of the charcoal fires. - -"There are the rabbiters," said Cuthbert, "just as usual!" - -"Nonsense," returned his brother; "the gang is dispersed." - -"Well, there they are," he persisted; and he was right. - -They marched on steadily, as if they were taking their nightly round, -but instead of the familiar traps, each one carried a young pig in his -arms. - -Pig-driving, as Pat does it at Ballyshannon fair, is a joke to -pig-carrying when the pig is a wild one, born and reared in the bush. -On they came with their living burdens, after a fashion which called -forth the loudest merriment on the part of the watchers. - -"Is Farmer Lee about again?" they asked, as they came up with the -pack-horse train. - -Ottley shook his head and pointed to the laughing boys beside him, -saying, "These are his sons." - -"No matter," they replied, with a dejected air. "We cannot get our gang -together. Hal is down, and Lawford missing. We've been hunting a pig -or two over Feltham's run, and we've brought 'em up to Farmer Lee. They -are good 'uns, and they will make him three fat hogs by-and-by, if he -likes to keep 'em. We have heard something of what that Lawford has been -after, and we are uncommon mad about it, for fear the farmer should -think we had any hand in it." - -"He knows you had not," returned Edwin. "It is all found out. But I do -not think Lawford will show his face here any more. I am sure my father -will be pleased with such a present, and thank you all heartily." As he -spoke he held out his hand, and received a true old Yorkshire gripe. - -"There are three of us," he went on, glancing at Arthur and Cuthbert; -"but can we get such gifties home?" - -"And what will you do with them when they are there?" asked Arthur; -"unless, like Paddy, you house them in the corner of the cabin." - -Ottley, always good at need, came to the help, and proposed to lend his -empty corn-bags for the transit. - -Back they went in triumph, each with a sack on his back and a struggling -pig fighting his way out of it. - -The kicking and the squealing, the biting and the squalling, the screams -and the laughs, broke up the conference within doors, and augmented the -party at the supper, which Audrey and Effie were preparing from the -contents of the panniers. - -"The pack-horse train a realized fact!" exclaimed Mr. Bowen.--"Come, -Arthur; that means for us the rest of our journey made easy. We must be -ready for a start at any hour." - -"If your time is to be my time," interposed Ottley, who was entering at -the moment, "we shall all wait for the morning." - -"Wait for the morning," repeated the captain, as he lit his pipe. -"There is a bigger world of wisdom in that bit of advice than you think -for. It is what we have all got to do at times, as we sailors soon find -out." - -A light tread beneath the window caught Edwin's ear. Surely he knew -that step. It was--it must be Whero's. - -He was out on the veranda in a moment. There was his Maori friend -wandering round the house in the brilliant starshine, stroking his kaka. - -"I cannot live upon my hill alone," said Whero. "I have followed you, -but I should cry hoke to you in vain. I will take my bird and go back -to Tuaranga--it will be safe among my Maori school-fellows--until hunger -shall have passed away from the hills." - -Edwin's arm went round him as he cried out gleefully, "Ottley, Ottley, -here are two more passengers for the pack-horse train!" - - - - - THE END. - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *ENTIRELY NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION OF* - - *R. M. Ballantyne's Books for Boys.* - - -The Coral Island. A Tale of the Pacific. - -The Young Fur-Traders; or, Snowflakes and Sunbeams from the Far North. - -The World of Ice. Adventures in the Polar Regions. - -The Gorilla Hunters. A Tale of the Wilds of Africa. - -Martin Rattler. A Boy's Adventures in the Forests of Brazil. - -Ungava. A Tale of Esquimau Land. - -The Dog Crusoe and His Master. A Story of Adventure on the Western -Prairies. - -Hudson Bay; or, Everyday Life in the Wilds of North America, during a -Six Years' Residence in the Territories of the Hon. 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