*CHAPTER IV.*
*THE NEW HOME.*
The sun had risen when Edwin and the coach man started on their way tothe ford. With Whero running by the horse's head for a guide, thedangers of the bush were avoided, and they rode back faster than theycame. The gloom had vanished from the forest. The distant hills werepainted with violet, pink, and gold. Sunbeams danced on scarletcreepers and bright-hued berries, and sparkled in a thousand frostedspiders' webs nestling in the forks of the trees. Whero led them to theroad, and there they parted. "If food runs low," he said, "I shall goto school. With all our winter stores carried away it must; I know it."
"Don't try starving before schooling," said Ottley, cheerily. "Watchfor me as I come back with the coach, and I'll take you down toCambridge and on to the nearest government school.--Not the Cambridgeyou and I were talking of, Edwin, but a little township in the bushwhich 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 morethat I want to know about--why the water boils through the earth hereand not everywhere. We love our mud-hole and our boiling spring, andyou are afraid of them."
"They are such awful places," said Edwin, as Whero turned back among thetrees and left them, not altogether envious of a Maori's patrimony. "Itis 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 thesehills which goes by that name, filled with sulphurous smoke and hissingmud. The men who made that greenstone club would have finished lastnight's work by hurling Nga-Hepe into its chasms. Thank God, that dayis done. We have overcome the cannibal among them; and as we draw theiryoung 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 householdwas astir. He gave the bridle to Edwin and leaped down. The boy was inno hurry to follow. He lingered outside, just to try if he could sithis powerful steed and manage him single-handed. When he rode throughthe gate at last, Ottley was coming out of the stable as intent upon hisown 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 ofthe coach was the grand event of the day. Mrs. Hirpington wasengrossed, and Edwin's entrance passed unquestioned. His appetite wassharpened by his morning ride across the bush, and he was working awaywith 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 andwished them all success in their new home.
The boys ran out to help him to his seat, and see the old ford-horsepilot 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 keepthe money for the horse; but I shall leave all sorts of things for herat the roadman's hut, which she can fetch away unnoticed at her owntime. When you are settled in your new home, you must not forget I'mgeneral 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. Theclever old pilot-horse, which Mr. Hirpington was bound by his lease tokeep, was yoked in front of the team. Good roadsters as thecoach-horses were, they could not manage the river without him. Theirfeet were sure to slip, and one and all might be thrown down by theforce of the current. But this steady old fellow, who spent his lifecrossing and recrossing the river, loved his work. It was a sight noadmirer of horses could ever forget to see him stepping down into theriver, taking such care of his load, cautiously advancing a few paces,and stopping to throw himself back on his haunches and try the bottom ofthe river with one of his fore feet. If he found a boulder had beenwashed down in the night too big for him to step over, he swept thecoach 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 bankon the opposite side was truly marvellous. When he considered his workwas done, he stood stock-still, and no power on earth could make himstir another step. As soon as he was released, splash he went back intothe water, and trotted through it as merrily as a four-year-old.
"Cuthbert," said Edwin, in a confidential whisper, "we've got just suchanother of our own. Come along and have a look at him."
Away went the boys to the stable, where Mr. Hirpington found them twohours after making friends with "Beauty," as they told him.
At that hour in the morning every one at the ford was hard at work, andthey were glad to leave the boys to their own devices. Audrey and Effieoccupied themselves in assisting Mrs. Hirpington. When they all mettogether at the one-o'clock dinner, Edwin was quite ready to indemnifyhis sisters for his last night's silence, and launched into glowingdescriptions of his peep into wonderland.
"Shut up," said Mr. Hirpington, who saw the terror gathering in Effie'seyes. "You'll be persuading these young ladies we are next-doorneighbours to another Vesuvius.--Don't believe him, my dears. Thesemud-jets and geysers that he is talking about are nature'ssafety-valves. I do not deny we are living in a volcanic region. Wefeel the earth tremble every now and then, setting all the dishesrattling, and tumbling down our books; but it is nothing more than thetempests 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 ofyears, and they would not change homes with anybody in the world;neither would we. Mr. Bowen almost thinks New Zealand beats old Englandhollow," laughed Mr. Hirpington. "If that is going a little too far, sheis the gem of the Southern Ocean. But seriously now," he added,"although the pumice-stone we can pick up any day tells us how thisisland was made, there has been no volcanic disturbance worth the nameof an eruption since we English set foot on the island. The Maoris werehere some hundreds of years before us, and their traditions have beenhanded down from father to son, but they never heard of anything of thekind."
Mr. Hirpington spoke confidently, and all New Zealand would have agreedwith him.
Edwin thought of Whero. "There are a great many things I want tounderstand," he said, thoughtfully.
"Wife," laughed Mr. Hirpington, "is not there a book of PaulettScroope's somewhere about? He is our big gun on these matters."
As Mrs. Hirpington rose to find the book, she tried to divert Effie'sattention by admitting her numerous family of cats: seven energeticmousers, with a goodly following of impudent kittens--tabby,tortoise-shell, and black. When Effie understood she was to choose apet from among them, mud and Maoris seemed banished by their round greeneyes and whisking tails. The very title of Edwin's book provedconsolatory to Audrey--"Geology and Extinct Volcanoes in CentralFrance." A book in the bush is a book indeed, and Edwin held histreasure with a loving clasp. He knew it was a parting gift; andlooking through the river-window, he saw Dunter and his companionreturning in a big lumbering cart. They drew up on the opposite bank ofthe river and waved their hats.
"They have come to fetch us," cried Audrey. Mrs. Hirpington would hardlybelieve 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 ofher juvenile guests.
According to New Zealand custom, Mr. Lee had been obliged to buy thehorse and cart which brought his luggage up country, so he had sent itwith Dunter to fetch his children.
The men had half filled it with freshly-gathered fern; and Edwin wasdelighted to see how easily his Beauty could swim the stream, to takethe 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, lamentingas she fastened Effie's cloak that she could not keep one of them withher. 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 thrownin.
Mr. Hirpington had seized the oar. "I take you myself," he said; "thatwas the bargain with your father."
In a few minutes they had crossed the river, and were safely seated inthe midst of a heap of fern, and found it as pleasant as a ride in ahay-cart. Mr. Hirpington sat on the side of the cart teaching Cuthberthow to hold the reins.
The road which they had taken was a mere cart-track, which the men hadimproved as they came; for they had been obliged to use their hatchetsfreely to get the cart along. Many a great branch which they had loppedoff was lying under the tree from which it had fallen, and served as away-mark. The trees through which they were driving were tall and dark,but so overgrown with creepers and parasites it was often difficult totell what trees they were. A hundred and fifty feet above their headsthe red blossoms of the rata were streaming like banners, and wreathingthemselves into gigantic nests. Beneath were an infinite variety ofshrubs, with large, glossy leaves, like magnolias or laurels; sweetlyfragrant aromatic bushes, burying the fallen trunk of some old tree,shrouded in velvet moss and mouse-ear. Little green and yellow birdswere hopping from spray to spray through the rich harvest of berries thebushes afforded.
The drive was in itself a pleasure. A breath of summer still lingeredin the glinting sunlight, as if it longed to stay the falling leaves.The trees were parted by a wandering brook overgrown with brilliantscarlet duckweed. An enormous willow hanging over its pretty bank, witha peep between its drooping branches of a grassy slope just dotted withthe ever-present ti tree told them they had reached their journey's end.They saw the rush-thatched roof and somewhat dilapidated veranda of thedisused schoolhouse. Before it stretched a lovely valley, where thebrook became a foaming rivulet. A little group of tents and a long lineof silvery-looking streamers marked the camp of the rabbiters.
But the children's eyes were fastened on the moss-grown thatch. Soonthey could distinguish the broken-down paling and the recently-mendedgate, at which Mr. Lee was hammering. A shout, in which three voices atleast united, made him look round. Down went bill and hammer as he ranto meet them, answering with his cheeriest "All right!" the welcome cryof, "Father, father, here we are!"
Mr. Hirpington sprang out and lifted Audrey to the ground. Mr. Lee hadEffie in his arms already. The boys, disdaining assistance, climbed overthe back of the cart, laughing merrily. The garden had long since goneback to wilderness, but the fruit still hung on the unprunedtrees--apples and peaches dwindling for want of the gardener's care, butoh, so nice in boyish eyes! Cuthbert had shied a stone amongst theover-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 unboundedsatisfaction.
"You could not have chosen better for me," he went on, and Edwin'sbeaming face echoed his father's content.
Mr. Hirpington was pulling out from beneath the fern-leaves a store ofgood things of which his friend knew nothing---wild pig and hare, butterand eggs, nice new-made bread; just a transfer from the larder at theford to please the children.
Age had given to the school-house a touch of the picturesque. Itslog-built walls were embowered in creepers, and the sweet-brier, whichhad formerly edged the worn-out path, was now choking the doorway.Although Mr. Lee's tenancy could be counted by hours, he had not beenidle. 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 forcedopen, and the sunny air they admitted so freely was fast dispelling thedamp 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, butaround the fire-place a sense of comfort began to show itself already.A camp-table had been unpacked and screwed together, and seats, after afashion, were provided for all the party. The colonist's "billy," theall-useful iron pot for camp fire or farmhouse kitchen, was singingmerrily, and even the family teapot had been brought back to daylightfrom its chrysalis of straw and packing-case. There was a home-likefeeling in this quiet taking possession.
"I thought it would be better than having your boys and girls shiveringunder canvas until your house was built," remarked Mr. Hirpington,rubbing his hands with the pleasant assurance of success. "You can rentthe old place as long as you like. It may be a bit shaky at the othercorner, but a good prop will make it all right."
The two friends went out to examine, and the brothers and sisters drewtogether. Effie was hugging her kitten; Cuthbert was thinking of thefruit; but Beauty, who had been left grazing outside, was beforehandwith 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 throwaway the stone, and Cuthbert shouted with delight to Edwin. They werenot altogether pleased to find Mr. Hirpington regarded it as a veryordinary accomplishment in a New Zealand horse.
"We are in another hemisphere," exclaimed Edwin, "and everything aboutus is so delightfully new."
"Except these decaying beams," returned his father, coming round toexamine the state of the roof above the window at which Edwin and Effiewere standing after their survey of the bedrooms.
Audrey, who had deferred her curiosity to prepare the family meal, wasglad to learn that, besides the room in which Mr. Lee had slept lastnight, each end of the veranda had been enclosed, making two more tinyones. A bedstead was already put up in one, and such stores as had beenunpacked were shut in the other.
When Audrey's call to tea brought back the explorers, and the littleparty gathered around their own fireside, Edwin could but think of thedismantled hearth by the Rota Pah, and as he heard his father'senergetic conversation with Mr. Hirpington, his indignation against themerciless tana was ready to effervesce once more.
"Now," Mr. Lee went on, "I cannot bring my mind to clear my land byburning down the trees. You say it is the easiest way."
"Don't begin to dispute with me over that," laughed his friend. "Youcan light a fire, but how will you fell a tree single-handed?"
The boys were listening with eager interest to their father's plans. Toswing the axe and load the faggot-cart would be jolly work indeed inthose lovely woods.
Mr. Hirpington was to ride back on the horse he had lent to Mr. Lee onthe preceding evening. When he started, the brothers ran down thevalley to get a peep at the rabbiter's camp. Three or four men werelying round their fire eating their supper. The line of silverstreamers fluttering in the wind proved to be an innumerable multitudeof rabbit-skins hanging up to dry. A party of sea-gulls, which hadfollowed the camp as the rabbiters moved on, were hovering about, cryinglike cats, until they awakened the sleeping echoes.
The men told Edwin they had been clearing the great sheep-runs betweenhis father's land and the sea-shore, and the birds had followed them allthose miles for the sake of the nightly feast they could pick up intheir 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 overyou 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 bushwithout the sweet interlude of twilight. They were groping their wayback to the house, when the fire-flies began their nightly dance, andthe flowering shrubs poured forth their perfume. The stars shone out inall their southern splendour, and the boys became aware of a moving armyin the grass. Poor Bunny was mustering his myriads.
Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story Page 4
