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-Hepé 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-Hepé'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-Hepé 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-Hepé 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 hoké 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 OFR. 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. Hudson Bay Company. With Memoir of the Author and Portrait. 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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-Hepé 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-Hepé'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-Hepé 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-Hepé 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."
"What lads ere did our lads will do;Were I a lad, I would follow him too."
"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 hoké 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. Hudson Bay Company. With Memoir of the Author and Portrait. Also Twenty-nine Illustrations drawn by BAYARD and other Artists, from Sketches by the Author.
The Boys' New Library.
The British Legion. A Tale of the Carlist War. By HERBERT HAYENS, author of "An Emperor's Doom," etc., etc. Crown 8vo. With Six Illustrations by W. H. MARGETSON.
The Island of Gold. A Sea Story. By GORDON STABLES, M.D., R.N., author of "Every Inch a Sailor," "How Jack Mackenzie won his Epaulettes," etc., etc. Crown 8vo. With Six Illustrations.
How Jack Mackenzie Won His Epaulettes. By GORDON STABLES, M.D., R.N., author of "As We Sweep through the Deep," etc. With Six Illustrations by A. PEARCE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
Boris the Bear-Hunter. A Story of Peter the Great and His Times. By FRED. WHISHAW, author of "A Lost Army," etc. Illustrated by W. S. STACEY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
My Strange Rescue. AND OTHER STORIES OF SPORT AND ADVENTURE IN CANADA. By J. MACDONALD OXLEY, author of "Up Among the Ice-Floes," "Diamond Rock," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
Pincherton Farm. By E. A. B. D., author of "Young Ishmael Conway," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
Up Among the Ice-Floes. By J. MACDONALD OXLEY, author of "Diamond Rock," etc. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
A Lost Army. By FRED. WHISHAW, author of "Boris the Bear Hunter," "Out of Doors in Tsarland," etc. With Six Illustrations by W. S. STACEY. Post 8vo, cloth extra.
Baffling the Blockade. By J. MACDONALD OXLEY, author of "In the Wilds of the West Coast," "Diamond Rock," "My Strange Rescue," etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra.
Chris Willoughby; or, Against the Current. By FLORENCE E. BURCH, author of "Dick and Harry and Tom," etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra.
Diamond Rock; or, On the Right Track. By J. MACDONALD OXLEY, author of "Up Among the Ice-Floes," etc. With Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra.
Doing and Daring. A New Zealand Story. By ELEANOR STREDDER, author of "Jack and his Ostrich," etc. With Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra.
Harold the Norseman. By FRED. WHISHAW, author of "A Lost Army," "Boris the Bear-Hunter," etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra.
Works of Travel and Research.
Captain Cook's Voyages Round the World. With a Memoir by M. B. SYNGE.
Voyages and Travels of Captain Basil Hall. With Illustrations.
The Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus. By WASHINGTON IRVING. Author's Revised Edition. With Illustrations.
Maury's Physical Geography of the Sea. With Charts, Diagrams, and Illustrations.
The Bible in Spain; or, The Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula. By GEORGE BORROW, author of "The Gipsies in Spain." With Illustrations.
Journal of a Voyage Round the World of H.M.S. "Beagle." By CHARLES DARWIN, M.A., F.R.S. With Sixteen Full-page and Six Double-page Illustrations.
Kane's Arctic Explorations: The Second Grinnell Expedition in Search of Sir John Franklin. With a Chart and numerous Illustrations.
Wanderings in South America, etc. By CHARLES WATERTON, Esq. With Sixteen Illustrations.
Self-Effort Series.
Architects of Fate; or, Steps to Success and Power. By ORISON SWETT HARDEN, author of "Pushing to the Front; or, Success under Difficulties." With Eight Illustrations. Crown 8vo.
Men Who Win; or, Making Things Happen. By W. M. THAYER, author of "From Log Cabin to White House," "Women Who Win," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
Women Who Win; or, Making Things Happen. By W. M. THAYER, author of "From Log Cabin to White House," "Men Who Win," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
The Achievements of Youth. By the Rev. ROBERT STEEL, D.D., Ph.D., author of "Lives Made Sublime," etc. Post 8vo, cloth extra.
Doing Good; or, The Christian in Walks of Usefulness. Illustrated by Examples. By the Rev. ROBERT STEEL, D.D., Ph.D. Post 8vo.
Earnest Men: Their Life and Work. By the late Rev. W. K. TWEEDIE, D.D. Crown 8vo.
Famous Artists. Michael Angelo—Leonardo da Vinci—Raphael—Titian—Murillo—Rubens—Rembrandt. By SARAH K. BOLTON. Post 8vo, cloth extra.
Heroes of the Desert. The Story of the Lives of Moffat and Livingstone. By the Author of "Mary Powell." New and Enlarged Edition, with numerous Illustrations and Two Portraits. Crown 8vo, cloth extra.
Popular Works by E. Everett-Green.
HISTORICAL TALES.
A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' War.
The Young Pioneers; or, With La Salle on the Mississippi.
In Taunton Town. A Story of the Rebellion of James, Duke of Monmouth, in 1685.
Shut In. A Tale of the Wonderful Siege of Antwerp in the Year 1585.
The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn. A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot.
In the Days of Chivalry. A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince.
Loyal Hearts and True. A Story of the Days of "Good Queen Bess."
The Church and the King. A Tale of England in the Days of Henry the Eighth.
Tom Tufton's Travels.
Dominique's Vengeance. A Story of France and Florida.
The Sign of the Red Cross. A Tale of Old London.
Maud Melville's Marriage. A Tale of the Seventeenth Century.
Evil May-Day. A Story of 1517.
In the Wars of the Roses. A Story for the Young.
The Lord of Dynevor. A Tale of the Times of Edward the First.
The Secret Chamber at Chad. A Tale.
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
"Sister." A Chronicle of Fair Haven. With Eight Illustrations.
Molly Melville. With Illustrations.
Olive Roscoe; or, The New Sister. With Eight Illustrations.
The Heiress of Wylmington.
Temple's Trial.
Vera's Trust. A Tale.
Winning the Victory; or, Di Pennington's Reward. A Tale.
For the Queen's Sake; or, The Story of Little Sir Caspar.
Squib and his Friends. A Story for Children.
Birdie's Resolve, and How It Was Accomplished. A Story for Children.
Dulcie's Little Brother; or, Doings at Little Monksholm.
Dulcie and Tottie; or, The Story of an Old-Fashioned Pair.
Dulcie's Love Story.
Fighting the Good Fight; or, The Successful Influence of Well Doing.
True to the Last; or, My Boyhood's Hero.
Sir Aylmer's Heir. A Story for the Young.
T. NELSON AND SONS, London, Edinburgh, and New York.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKDOING AND DARING***