Text stringlengths 1 42.7k ⌀ | Speaker stringclasses 528 values | Text_10_word_context stringlengths 44 42.8k | Text_20_word_context stringlengths 74 42.8k | Text_100_word_context stringlengths 291 43.2k | Text_200_word_context stringlengths 562 43.7k | Text_400_word_context stringlengths 1.08k 44.7k | Text_800_word_context stringlengths 2.14k 46.9k | Text_1600_word_context stringlengths 4.15k 51.3k | Text_variable_400_to_1200_word_context stringlengths 1.3k 48k | Book stringclasses 47 values |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. | No speaker | it to his companions. "Eat,"<|quote|>he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.</|quote|>"Look at that now," said | its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat,"<|quote|>he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.</|quote|>"Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone | the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat,"<|quote|>he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.</|quote|>"Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati | "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat,"<|quote|>he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.</|quote|>"Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. | aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat,"<|quote|>he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.</|quote|>"Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting | But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat,"<|quote|>he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.</|quote|>"Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call | to trust Mike Bannock, and how he turned you over." "Yes; but he was a scoundrel. Ngati is a simple-hearted savage." "Hope he is, Mas' Don; but what I'm feared on is, that he may be a simple-stomached savage." "Why, what do you mean, Jem?" "Only as he may turn hungry some day, as 'tis his nature to." "Of course." "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat,"<|quote|>he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.</|quote|>"Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, | that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat,"<|quote|>he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.</|quote|>"Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing | Don Lavington |
"Look at that now," | Jem Wimble | munch some of it himself.<|quote|>"Look at that now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "I should ha' | said; and he began to munch some of it himself.<|quote|>"Look at that now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a | said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.<|quote|>"Look at that now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about | a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.<|quote|>"Look at that now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; | and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.<|quote|>"Look at that now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll | gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.<|quote|>"Look at that now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if | but he was a scoundrel. Ngati is a simple-hearted savage." "Hope he is, Mas' Don; but what I'm feared on is, that he may be a simple-stomached savage." "Why, what do you mean, Jem?" "Only as he may turn hungry some day, as 'tis his nature to." "Of course." "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.<|quote|>"Look at that now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' | the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself.<|quote|>"Look at that now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the | Don Lavington |
said Jem. | No speaker | himself. "Look at that now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"I should ha' gone by | to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times | with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, | so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he | brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. | brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief | scoundrel. Ngati is a simple-hearted savage." "Hope he is, Mas' Don; but what I'm feared on is, that he may be a simple-stomached savage." "Why, what do you mean, Jem?" "Only as he may turn hungry some day, as 'tis his nature to." "Of course." "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to | his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him | Don Lavington |
"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" | Jem Wimble | at that now," said Jem.<|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or | some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem.<|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed | mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem.<|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry | shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem.<|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a | he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem.<|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori | of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem.<|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over | is a simple-hearted savage." "Hope he is, Mas' Don; but what I'm feared on is, that he may be a simple-stomached savage." "Why, what do you mean, Jem?" "Only as he may turn hungry some day, as 'tis his nature to." "Of course." "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem.<|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the | "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem.<|quote|>"I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was | Don Lavington |
"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." | Don Lavington | What's it like, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."</|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. | it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."</|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati | of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."</|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took | understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."</|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its | grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."</|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of | heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."</|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after | "Why, what do you mean, Jem?" "Only as he may turn hungry some day, as 'tis his nature to." "Of course." "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."</|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then | of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."</|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's | Don Lavington |
"Yes; 'tarn't bad," | Jem Wimble | pear, all mixed up together."<|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad,"</|quote|>said Jem. "What's he doing | stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."<|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad,"</|quote|>said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting | said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."<|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad,"</|quote|>said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of | mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."<|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad,"</|quote|>said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There | though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."<|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad,"</|quote|>said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and | throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."<|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad,"</|quote|>said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined | some day, as 'tis his nature to." "Of course." "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."<|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad,"</|quote|>said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its | said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together."<|quote|>"Yes; 'tarn't bad,"</|quote|>said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. | Don Lavington |
said Jem. | No speaker | up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"What's he doing now?" Ngati | nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for | began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from | he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said | to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to | upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, | 'tis his nature to." "Of course." "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five | which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped | Don Lavington |
"What's he doing now?" | Jem Wimble | "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem.<|quote|>"What's he doing now?"</|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about | pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem.<|quote|>"What's he doing now?"</|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the | munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem.<|quote|>"What's he doing now?"</|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the | "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem.<|quote|>"What's he doing now?"</|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all | that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem.<|quote|>"What's he doing now?"</|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, | bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem.<|quote|>"What's he doing now?"</|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to | nature to." "Of course." "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem.<|quote|>"What's he doing now?"</|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, | of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem.<|quote|>"What's he doing now?"</|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with | Don Lavington |
Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. | No speaker | Jem. "What's he doing now?"<|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.</|quote|>"Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and | together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?"<|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.</|quote|>"Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don | himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?"<|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.</|quote|>"Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, | eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?"<|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.</|quote|>"Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting | with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?"<|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.</|quote|>"Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to | Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?"<|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.</|quote|>"Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down | "And then, 'spose he has us out in the woods at his mercy like, how then?" "Jem, you're always thinking about cannibals. How can you be so absurd?" "Come, I like that, Mas' Don; arn't I had enough to make me think of 'em?" "Hssh!" The warning came from Ngati; for just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?"<|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.</|quote|>"Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes | fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?"<|quote|>Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.</|quote|>"Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a | Don Lavington |
"Good--good!" | Ngati | a nest upon the ground.<|quote|>"Good--good!"</|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he | a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.<|quote|>"Good--good!"</|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to | was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.<|quote|>"Good--good!"</|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' | "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.<|quote|>"Good--good!"</|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the | a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.<|quote|>"Good--good!"</|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate | pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.<|quote|>"Good--good!"</|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by | just then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.<|quote|>"Good--good!"</|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this | in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground.<|quote|>"Good--good!"</|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding | Don Lavington |
he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. | No speaker | nest upon the ground. "Good--good!"<|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.</|quote|>"There now," said Jem. "Why, | couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!"<|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.</|quote|>"There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; | busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!"<|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.</|quote|>"There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, | at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!"<|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.</|quote|>"There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, | good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!"<|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.</|quote|>"There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing | it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!"<|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.</|quote|>"There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, | then the breeze seemed to sweep the faint roar of the torrent aside, and the shouting of the Maoris came loud and clear. "They're over the river," said Jem excitedly. "Well, I've got a spear in my hand, and I mean to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!"<|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.</|quote|>"There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave | no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!"<|quote|>he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.</|quote|>"There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they | Don Lavington |
"There now," | Jem Wimble | number of its olive-like berries.<|quote|>"There now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Why, it's all | from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.<|quote|>"There now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea | of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.<|quote|>"There now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," | bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.<|quote|>"There now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing | kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.<|quote|>"There now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the | tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.<|quote|>"There now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do | to die fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.<|quote|>"There now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a | cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries.<|quote|>"There now,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his | Don Lavington |
said Jem. | No speaker | its olive-like berries. "There now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' | branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, | from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, | Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the | said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, | remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. | fighting for the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. | you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want | Don Lavington |
"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" | Jem Wimble | berries. "There now," said Jem.<|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"</|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, | large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem.<|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"</|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who | nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem.<|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"</|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding | he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem.<|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"</|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand | eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem.<|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"</|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried | last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem.<|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"</|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed | the sake of old Bristol and my little wife." CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. IN THE WOODS. "They're not over the river, Jem," said Don, impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't always look on the worst side of everything." "That's what your Uncle Josiah allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem.<|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"</|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he | of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem.<|quote|>"Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"</|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in | Don Lavington |
"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," | Don Lavington | don't. What's them things like?"<|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"</|quote|>replied Don, who had been | like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"<|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"</|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll | number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"<|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"</|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing | down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"<|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"</|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, | companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"<|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"</|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" | wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"<|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"</|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a | allus does with the sugar, Mas' Don. If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"<|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"</|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and | he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?"<|quote|>"Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"</|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, | Don Lavington |
replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. | No speaker | ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"<|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.</|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we | them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"<|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.</|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of | said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"<|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.</|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking | from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"<|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.</|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape | to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"<|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.</|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But | Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"<|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.</|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds | If the foots was werry treacley when he had a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"<|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.</|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor | face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars,"<|quote|>replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.</|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined | Don Lavington |
"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." | Jem Wimble | been tasting the fruit carefully.<|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."</|quote|>The Maori looked at him | medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.<|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."</|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, | tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.<|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."</|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of | eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.<|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."</|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and | now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.<|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."</|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous | eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.<|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."</|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them | a hogshead turned up to look at the bottom first, he allus used to say as all the rest was poor quality." "We're not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.<|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."</|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, | not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully.<|quote|>"That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."</|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool | Don Lavington |
The Maori looked at him inquiringly. | No speaker | cook 'em. I say, Ngati."<|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly.</|quote|>"More, more," said Jem, holding | don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."<|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly.</|quote|>"More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, | live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."<|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly.</|quote|>"More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising | found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."<|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly.</|quote|>"More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. | Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."<|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly.</|quote|>"More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, | chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."<|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly.</|quote|>"More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as | not dealing with sugar now." "No, Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."<|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly.</|quote|>"More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is | speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati."<|quote|>The Maori looked at him inquiringly.</|quote|>"More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants | Don Lavington |
"More, more," | Jem Wimble | Maori looked at him inquiringly.<|quote|>"More, more,"</|quote|>said Jem, holding up one | 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly.<|quote|>"More, more,"</|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing | don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly.<|quote|>"More, more,"</|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he | from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly.<|quote|>"More, more,"</|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," | or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly.<|quote|>"More, more,"</|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which | words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly.<|quote|>"More, more,"</|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant | Mas' Don; this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly.<|quote|>"More, more,"</|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER | his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly.<|quote|>"More, more,"</|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down | Don Lavington |
said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. | No speaker | at him inquiringly. "More, more,"<|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.</|quote|>"No, no," said Ngati, shaking | say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more,"<|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.</|quote|>"No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He | them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more,"<|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.</|quote|>"No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so | branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more,"<|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.</|quote|>"No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, | or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more,"<|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.</|quote|>"No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed | he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more,"<|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.</|quote|>"No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves | this here arn't half so sweet. I wish it was." "Hssh!" came from Ngati again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more,"<|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.</|quote|>"No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood | said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more,"<|quote|>said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.</|quote|>"No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. | Don Lavington |
"No, no," | Ngati | pointing to the ferny thicket.<|quote|>"No, no,"</|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head. | one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.<|quote|>"No, no,"</|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down | been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.<|quote|>"No, no,"</|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to | all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.<|quote|>"No, no,"</|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said | now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.<|quote|>"No, no,"</|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him | sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.<|quote|>"No, no,"</|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, | again. And for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.<|quote|>"No, no,"</|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on | directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket.<|quote|>"No, no,"</|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because | Don Lavington |
said Ngati, shaking his head. | No speaker | the ferny thicket. "No, no,"<|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head.</|quote|>"Moa, moa." He stooped down | the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no,"<|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head.</|quote|>"Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart | the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no,"<|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head.</|quote|>"Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a | Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no,"<|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head.</|quote|>"Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what | was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no,"<|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head.</|quote|>"Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the | him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no,"<|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head.</|quote|>"Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up | for the rest of the night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no,"<|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head.</|quote|>"Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very | grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no,"<|quote|>said Ngati, shaking his head.</|quote|>"Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking | Don Lavington |
"Moa, moa." | Ngati | said Ngati, shaking his head.<|quote|>"Moa, moa."</|quote|>He stooped down and held | the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head.<|quote|>"Moa, moa."</|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different | then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head.<|quote|>"Moa, moa."</|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, | coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head.<|quote|>"Moa, moa."</|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, | something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head.<|quote|>"Moa, moa."</|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of | again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head.<|quote|>"Moa, moa."</|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native | night they followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head.<|quote|>"Moa, moa."</|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and | as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head.<|quote|>"Moa, moa."</|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, | Don Lavington |
He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. | No speaker | shaking his head. "Moa, moa."<|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.</|quote|>"Moa, moa," he said, dropping | thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa."<|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.</|quote|>"Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing | we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa."<|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.</|quote|>"Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it | bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa."<|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.</|quote|>"Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, | amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa."<|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.</|quote|>"Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling | "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa."<|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.</|quote|>"Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie | followed him in silence along ravines, over rugged patches of mountain side, with the great fronds of the tree-ferns brushing their faces, and nocturnal birds rushing away from them as their steps invaded the solitudes where they indulged in their hunt for food. When they encountered a stream, which came foaming and plunging down from the mountain, after carefully trying its depth, Ngati still led the way. Hour after hour they tramped wearily on through the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa."<|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.</|quote|>"Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. | I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa."<|quote|>He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.</|quote|>"Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" | Don Lavington |
"Moa, moa," | Ngati | began to stalk about slowly.<|quote|>"Moa, moa,"</|quote|>he said, dropping his arm | a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.<|quote|>"Moa, moa,"</|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the | erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.<|quote|>"Moa, moa,"</|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, | "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.<|quote|>"Moa, moa,"</|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which | from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.<|quote|>"Moa, moa,"</|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction | grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.<|quote|>"Moa, moa,"</|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and | the darkness, Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.<|quote|>"Moa, moa,"</|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the | doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly.<|quote|>"Moa, moa,"</|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, | Don Lavington |
he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, | No speaker | stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa,"<|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said | forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa,"<|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what | raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa,"<|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated | said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa,"<|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, | branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa,"<|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel | pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa,"<|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once | Ngati rarely speaking, but pausing now and then to help them over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa,"<|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while | head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa,"<|quote|>he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a | Don Lavington |
"Kiwi, kiwi." | Ngati | and pointing to the eggs,<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi."</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't | said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi."</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, | the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi."</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, | the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi."</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then | Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi."</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, | "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi."</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the | over some rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi."</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was | he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs,<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi."</|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with | Don Lavington |
"Kiwi, kiwi," | Jem Wimble | to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi."<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Can't make out | his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi."<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; | so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi."<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do | thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi."<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to | it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi."<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite | "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi."<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook | rugged place. Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi."<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to | again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi."<|quote|>"Kiwi, kiwi,"</|quote|>said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any | Don Lavington |
said Jem. | No speaker | eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Can't make out what he | again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it | to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that | no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to | right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, | eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to | Everything in the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he | but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi,"<|quote|>said Jem.</|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, | Don Lavington |
"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" | Ngati | kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem.<|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"</|quote|>He made a gesture as | pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem.<|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"</|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but | the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem.<|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"</|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of | Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem.<|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"</|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in | Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem.<|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"</|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's | Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem.<|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"</|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said | the darkness was wild and strange, and there was an unreality in the journey that appeared dreamlike, the more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem.<|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"</|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had | kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem.<|quote|>"Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"</|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, | Don Lavington |
He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. | No speaker | we suck the eggs raw?"<|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.</|quote|>"No, no!" he cried sharply, | but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"<|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.</|quote|>"No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. | his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"<|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.</|quote|>"No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon | if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"<|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.</|quote|>"No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. | cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"<|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.</|quote|>"No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up | going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"<|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.</|quote|>"No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first | more so that, utterly worn out, Don from time to time tramped on in a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"<|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.</|quote|>"No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him | branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?"<|quote|>He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.</|quote|>"No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see | Don Lavington |
"No, no!" | Ngati | but Ngati snatched it away.<|quote|>"No, no!"</|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched | as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.<|quote|>"No, no!"</|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated | moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.<|quote|>"No, no!"</|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they | he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.<|quote|>"No, no!"</|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: | What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.<|quote|>"No, no!"</|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, | handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.<|quote|>"No, no!"</|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." | a state of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.<|quote|>"No, no!"</|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the | the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away.<|quote|>"No, no!"</|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an | Don Lavington |
he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. | No speaker | snatched it away. "No, no!"<|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.</|quote|>"Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I | to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!"<|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.</|quote|>"Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But | said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!"<|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.</|quote|>"Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined | one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!"<|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.</|quote|>"Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it | things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!"<|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.</|quote|>"Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and | to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!"<|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.</|quote|>"Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I | of drowsiness resembling sleep. But all this passed away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!"<|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.</|quote|>"Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he | of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!"<|quote|>he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.</|quote|>"Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking | Don Lavington |
"Pig!" | Jem Wimble | and snatched the other away.<|quote|>"Pig!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do | "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.<|quote|>"Pig!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if | the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.<|quote|>"Pig!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's | arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.<|quote|>"Pig!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, | medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.<|quote|>"Pig!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a | began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.<|quote|>"Pig!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant | away as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.<|quote|>"Pig!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, | successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away.<|quote|>"Pig!"</|quote|>ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the | Don Lavington |
ejaculated Jem. | No speaker | snatched the other away. "Pig!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem.</|quote|>"Well, I do call that | no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem.</|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief | eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem.</|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and | bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem.</|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati | replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem.</|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that | to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem.</|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to | as the faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem.</|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I | I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!"<|quote|>ejaculated Jem.</|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't | Don Lavington |
"Well, I do call that greedy." | Jem Wimble | other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem.<|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy."</|quote|>But if the chief was | cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem.<|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy."</|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which | kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem.<|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy."</|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come | fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem.<|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy."</|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a | who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem.<|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy."</|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The | some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem.<|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy."</|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he | faint light of day gave place to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem.<|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy."</|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call | said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem.<|quote|>"Well, I do call that greedy."</|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don | Don Lavington |
But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. | No speaker | I do call that greedy."<|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.</|quote|>"Is he going to drown | away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy."<|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.</|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, | make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy."<|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.</|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up | shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy."<|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.</|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll | carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy."<|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.</|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when | that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy."<|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.</|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look | to the brilliant glow of the morning sunshine, and Ngati came to a standstill in a ferny gully, down which a tremendous torrent poured with a heavy thunderous sound. And now, as Don and Jem were about to throw themselves down upon a bed of thick moss, Ngati held out his hand in English fashion to Don. "My pakeha," he said softly, "morning." There was something so quaint in his salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy."<|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.</|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries | its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy."<|quote|>But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.</|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and | Don Lavington |
"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" | Jem Wimble | him in his energetic way.<|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: | the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.<|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your | woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.<|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's | gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.<|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, | describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.<|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the | in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.<|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I | salutation that, in spite of weariness and trouble, Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.<|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find | to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way.<|quote|>"Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"</|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple | Don Lavington |
"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." | Don Lavington | to drown me, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."</|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati | energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."</|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by | and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."</|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' | snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."</|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly | Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."</|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to | the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."</|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would | Don laughed till he saw the great chiefs countenance cloud. But it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."</|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring | mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?"<|quote|>"No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."</|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to | Don Lavington |
So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. | No speaker | wants to bathe your wound."<|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.</|quote|>This done, he examined Don's | no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."<|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.</|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because | Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."<|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.</|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati | other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."<|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.</|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear | of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."<|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.</|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; | couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."<|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.</|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having | it cleared at once as Don caught his hand, pressed it warmly, and looked gratefully in his face. "Hah!" cried Ngati, grasping the hand he held with painful energy. "My pakeha, morning. Want eat?" "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."<|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.</|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking | shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound."<|quote|>So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.</|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' | Don Lavington |
This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. | No speaker | them up with wild flax.<|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.</|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do | to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.<|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.</|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite | to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.<|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.</|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple | generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.<|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.</|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in | and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.<|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.</|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, | he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.<|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.</|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and | "Yes, yes!" cried Jem, eagerly. "Yes, yes," said Ngati; and then he stood, looking puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.<|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.</|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to | of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax.<|quote|>This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.</|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look | Don Lavington |
"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" | Jem Wimble | because it was no worse.<|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"</|quote|>"What?" continued Jem, staring, as | Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.<|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"</|quote|>"What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants | your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.<|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"</|quote|>"What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The | after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.<|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"</|quote|>"What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally | again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.<|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"</|quote|>"What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the | its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.<|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"</|quote|>"What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. | puzzled, as he tried to remember. At last, shaking his head sadly, he said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.<|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"</|quote|>"What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" | so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse.<|quote|>"Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"</|quote|>"What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and | Don Lavington |
"What?" | Jem Wimble | he's quite a doctor, eh?"<|quote|>"What?"</|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati | it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"<|quote|>"What?"</|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you | pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"<|quote|>"What?"</|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds | down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"<|quote|>"What?"</|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound | make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"<|quote|>"What?"</|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, | 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"<|quote|>"What?"</|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall | said, "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"<|quote|>"What?"</|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He | seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?"<|quote|>"What?"</|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just | Don Lavington |
continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. | No speaker | quite a doctor, eh?" "What?"<|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.</|quote|>"He wants you to bathe | do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?"<|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.</|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, | and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?"<|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.</|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a | to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?"<|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.</|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered | out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?"<|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.</|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. | tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?"<|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.</|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and | "No, no," in a helpless, dissatisfied tone. "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?"<|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.</|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear | very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?"<|quote|>continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.</|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. | Don Lavington |
"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." | Don Lavington | staring, as Ngati made signs.<|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."</|quote|>Ngati lay down by the | doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.<|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."</|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some | applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.<|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."</|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to | him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.<|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."</|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was | it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.<|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."</|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just | but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.<|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."</|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I | "Want Tomati. Tomati--" He closed his eyes, and laid his head sidewise, to suggest that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.<|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."</|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed | he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs.<|quote|>"He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."</|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do | Don Lavington |
Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. | No speaker | painful, Jem; I'll do it."<|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.</|quote|>Don shuddered more than once | bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."<|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.</|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, | flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."<|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.</|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, | going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."<|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.</|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies | if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."<|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.</|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. | We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."<|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.</|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could | that Tomati was dead, and his countenance, in spite of his grotesque tattooing, wore an aspect of sadness that touched Don. "Tomati dead," he said slowly, and the chiefs eyes brightened. "Dead," he said; "Tomati dead--dead--all--dead." "Yes, poor fellows, all but the prisoners," said Don, speaking slowly, in the hope that the chief might grasp some of his words. But he did not understand a syllable, though he seemed to feel that Don was sympathising with him, and he shook hands again gravely. "My pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."<|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.</|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and | did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it."<|quote|>Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.</|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect | Don Lavington |
Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. | No speaker | them up with native flax.<|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap | and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.<|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to | was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.<|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to | made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.<|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take | stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.<|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear | stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.<|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the | pakeha," he said, pressing Don's hand. Then turning to Jem, he held out his other hand, and said slowly, "Jemmeree. Good boy." "Well, that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.<|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted | at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax.<|quote|>Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.</|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of | Don Lavington |
"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." | Jem Wimble | looking on calmly the while.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men | when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, | as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy | pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down | no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots | rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing | that's very kind of you," said Jem, quietly. "We don't understand one another much, but I do think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and | What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while.<|quote|>"Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."</|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of | Don Lavington |
"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." | Don Lavington | hospital for less than that."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and | would want to go into hospital for less than that."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to | and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only | plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, | lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep | as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and | think you a good fellow, Ngati; so I shake hands hearty; and I'll stand by you, mate, as you've stood by me." "Good, good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. | inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that."<|quote|>"Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old | Don Lavington |
"Sleep," | Ngati | as if nothing was wrong."<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he | quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie | when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I | he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' | up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, | and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, | good," said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts | pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong."<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and | Don Lavington |
said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. | No speaker | if nothing was wrong." "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.</|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, | and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.</|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; | it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.</|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." | appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.</|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here | with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.</|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and | a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.</|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and | said Ngati, smiling, as if he understood all. Then, looking grave and pained again, he pointed over the mountain. "Maori kill," he said. "Want eat?" "Yes; eat, eat," said Jem, making signs with his mouth. "Pig--meat." "No pig; no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.</|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started | down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.</|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in | Don Lavington |
"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," | Jem Wimble | by overhanging canopies of ferns.<|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"</|quote|>said Jem; "only I was | to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.<|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"</|quote|>said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." | up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.<|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"</|quote|>said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an | more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.<|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"</|quote|>said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll | "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.<|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"</|quote|>said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple | it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.<|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"</|quote|>said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor | no meat," said Ngati, grasping the meaning directly; and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.<|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"</|quote|>said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few | and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns.<|quote|>"Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"</|quote|>said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended | Don Lavington |
said Jem; | No speaker | Mas' Don, I don't mind,"<|quote|>said Jem;</|quote|>"only I was just as | of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"<|quote|>said Jem;</|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him." "Let me | nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"<|quote|>said Jem;</|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All | and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"<|quote|>said Jem;</|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a | arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"<|quote|>said Jem;</|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this | raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"<|quote|>said Jem;</|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some | and going to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"<|quote|>said Jem;</|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, | pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind,"<|quote|>said Jem;</|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, | Don Lavington |
"only I was just as tired as him." | Don Lavington | I don't mind," said Jem;<|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him."</|quote|>"Let me take the first | "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem;<|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him."</|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's | wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem;<|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him."</|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the | glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem;<|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him."</|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. | Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem;<|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him."</|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, | made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem;<|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him."</|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they | to a palm-like tree, he broke out some of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem;<|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him."</|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, | I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem;<|quote|>"only I was just as tired as him."</|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit | Don Lavington |
"Let me take the first watch, Jem." | Jem Wimble | just as tired as him."<|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem."</|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, | said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him."<|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem."</|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you | to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him."<|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem."</|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, | calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him."<|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem."</|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I | the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him."<|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem."</|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; | but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him."<|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem."</|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the | of its tender growth and handed it to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him."<|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem."</|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. | him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him."<|quote|>"Let me take the first watch, Jem."</|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the | Don Lavington |
"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." | Don Lavington | take the first watch, Jem."<|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."</|quote|>"Call me then, at the | tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem."<|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."</|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All | Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem."<|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."</|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here | chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem."<|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."</|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired | Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem."<|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."</|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love | he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem."<|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."</|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, | to his companions. "Eat," he said; and he began to munch some of it himself. "Look at that now," said Jem. "I should ha' gone by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem."<|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."</|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the | "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem."<|quote|>"No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."</|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here | Don Lavington |
"Call me then, at the end of an hour." | Jem Wimble | to toss for first go."<|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour."</|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don," said | only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."<|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour."</|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business | "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."<|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour."</|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep | up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."<|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour."</|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off | wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."<|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour."</|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here | eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."<|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour."</|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird | by that tree a hundred times without thinking it was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."<|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour."</|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed | the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go."<|quote|>"Call me then, at the end of an hour."</|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it | Don Lavington |
"All right, Mas' Don," | Don Lavington | the end of an hour."<|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem, going through the | go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour."<|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an | Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour."<|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, | was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour."<|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's | about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour."<|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side | palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour."<|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, | was good to eat. What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour."<|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so | and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour."<|quote|>"All right, Mas' Don,"</|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the | Don Lavington |
said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. | No speaker | hour." "All right, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.</|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, | at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.</|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid | just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.</|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your | Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.</|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a | to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.</|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and | he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.</|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw | What's it like, Mas' Don?" "Something like stalky celery, or nut, or pear, all mixed up together." "Yes; 'tarn't bad," said Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.</|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint | he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don,"<|quote|>said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.</|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could | Don Lavington |
"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." | Jem Wimble | then looking at its face.<|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."</|quote|>"You'll keep a good look | watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.<|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."</|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' | you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.<|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."</|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and | once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.<|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."</|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a | seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.<|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."</|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping | wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.<|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."</|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after | Jem. "What's he doing now?" Ngati was busily hunting about for something, peering amongst the trees, but he did not seem to find that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.<|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."</|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on | to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face.<|quote|>"Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."</|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and | Don Lavington |
"You'll keep a good look out, Jem." | Don Lavington | do one's watch any good."<|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem."</|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment | slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."<|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem."</|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything | an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."<|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem."</|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes | mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."<|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem."</|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I | task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."<|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem."</|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound | him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."<|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem."</|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of | that of which he was in search. He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."<|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem."</|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for | fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good."<|quote|>"You'll keep a good look out, Jem."</|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape | Don Lavington |
"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" | Jem Wimble | a good look out, Jem."<|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"</|quote|>"Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, | watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem."<|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"</|quote|>"Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." | Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem."<|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"</|quote|>"Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. | as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem."<|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"</|quote|>"Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my | over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem."<|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"</|quote|>"Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing | going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem."<|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"</|quote|>"Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead | He uttered a cry of satisfaction the next minute, though, as he stooped down and took a couple of eggs from a nest upon the ground. "Good--good!" he exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem."<|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"</|quote|>"Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to | was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem."<|quote|>"Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"</|quote|>"Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you | Don Lavington |
"Ah, Jem," | Don Lavington | Boots or shoes this morning?"<|quote|>"Ah, Jem,"</|quote|>said Don, smiling, "I'm too | like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"<|quote|>"Ah, Jem,"</|quote|>said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he | I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"<|quote|>"Ah, Jem,"</|quote|>said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we | might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"<|quote|>"Ah, Jem,"</|quote|>said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's | men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"<|quote|>"Ah, Jem,"</|quote|>said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect | pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"<|quote|>"Ah, Jem,"</|quote|>said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being | exclaimed, eagerly; and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"<|quote|>"Ah, Jem,"</|quote|>said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming | So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?"<|quote|>"Ah, Jem,"</|quote|>said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don | Don Lavington |
said Don, smiling, | No speaker | shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem,"<|quote|>said Don, smiling,</|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh." | shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem,"<|quote|>said Don, smiling,</|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and | I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem,"<|quote|>said Don, smiling,</|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old | offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem,"<|quote|>said Don, smiling,</|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I | so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem,"<|quote|>said Don, smiling,</|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, | tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem,"<|quote|>said Don, smiling,</|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it | and he gave them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem,"<|quote|>said Don, smiling,</|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a | signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem,"<|quote|>said Don, smiling,</|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to | Don Lavington |
"I'm too tired to laugh." | Don Lavington | "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling,<|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh."</|quote|>And he lay back and | Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling,<|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh."</|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, | slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling,<|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh."</|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we | for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling,<|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh."</|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and | well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling,<|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh."</|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take | injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling,<|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh."</|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and | them to Don to carry, while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling,<|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh."</|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no | eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling,<|quote|>"I'm too tired to laugh."</|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped | Don Lavington |
And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. | No speaker | "I'm too tired to laugh."<|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.</|quote|>"Too tired to laugh," said | "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh."<|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.</|quote|>"Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear | do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh."<|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.</|quote|>"Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't | then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh."<|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.</|quote|>"Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and | and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh."<|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.</|quote|>"Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a | cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh."<|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.</|quote|>"Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's | while he once more resumed his search, which this time was successful, for he found a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh."<|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.</|quote|>"Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing | doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh."<|quote|>And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.</|quote|>"Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor | Don Lavington |
"Too tired to laugh," | Jem Wimble | Ngati's eyes having already closed.<|quote|>"Too tired to laugh,"</|quote|>said Jem to himself. "Poor | dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.<|quote|>"Too tired to laugh,"</|quote|>said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as | Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.<|quote|>"Too tired to laugh,"</|quote|>said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it | the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.<|quote|>"Too tired to laugh,"</|quote|>said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such | signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.<|quote|>"Too tired to laugh,"</|quote|>said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and | he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.<|quote|>"Too tired to laugh,"</|quote|>said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end | a young tree, and stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.<|quote|>"Too tired to laugh,"</|quote|>said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, | flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed.<|quote|>"Too tired to laugh,"</|quote|>said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat | Don Lavington |
said Jem to himself. | No speaker | closed. "Too tired to laugh,"<|quote|>said Jem to himself.</|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him | directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh,"<|quote|>said Jem to himself.</|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young | or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh,"<|quote|>said Jem to himself.</|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; | out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh,"<|quote|>said Jem to himself.</|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY | lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh,"<|quote|>said Jem to himself.</|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious | smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh,"<|quote|>said Jem to himself.</|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I | stripped from its branches a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh,"<|quote|>said Jem to himself.</|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there | suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh,"<|quote|>said Jem to himself.</|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very | Don Lavington |
"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," | Jem Wimble | laugh," said Jem to himself.<|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"</|quote|>he added reverently, "please God | already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself.<|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"</|quote|>he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us | calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself.<|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"</|quote|>he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. | winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself.<|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"</|quote|>he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen | Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself.<|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"</|quote|>he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird | it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself.<|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"</|quote|>he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was | a large number of its olive-like berries. "There now," said Jem. "Why, it's all right, Mas' Don; 'tarn't tea and coffee, and bread and butter, but it's salad and eggs and fruit. Why, fighting cocks'll be nothing to it. We shall live like princes, see if we don't. What's them things like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself.<|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"</|quote|>he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. | that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself.<|quote|>"Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"</|quote|>he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much | Don Lavington |
he added reverently, | No speaker | all like a man; and,"<|quote|>he added reverently,</|quote|>"please God save us and | won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"<|quote|>he added reverently,</|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's | dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"<|quote|>he added reverently,</|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. | you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"<|quote|>he added reverently,</|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they | no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"<|quote|>he added reverently,</|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed | bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"<|quote|>he added reverently,</|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they | like?" "Like very ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"<|quote|>he added reverently,</|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on | "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and,"<|quote|>he added reverently,</|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, | Don Lavington |
"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." | Jem Wimble | man; and," he added reverently,<|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."</|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING | bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently,<|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."</|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch | him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently,<|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."</|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty | time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently,<|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."</|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then | right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently,<|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."</|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes | of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently,<|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."</|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" | ripe apples, Jem, or medlars," replied Don, who had been tasting the fruit carefully. "That'll do, then. Pity we can't find some more of them eggs, and don't light a fire to cook 'em. I say, Ngati." The Maori looked at him inquiringly. "More, more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently,<|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."</|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened | So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently,<|quote|>"please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."</|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a | Don Lavington |
CHAPTER FORTY SIX. | No speaker | t'other; and such is life."<|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX.</|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept | o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."<|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX.</|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as | a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."<|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX.</|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen | to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."<|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX.</|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody | imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."<|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX.</|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction | attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."<|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX.</|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati | more," said Jem, holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."<|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX.</|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for | home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life."<|quote|>CHAPTER FORTY SIX.</|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked | Don Lavington |
AN UNTIRING ENEMY. | No speaker | is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX.<|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY.</|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and | and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX.<|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY.</|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning | he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX.<|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY.</|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they | dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX.<|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY.</|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird | it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX.<|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY.</|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten | them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX.<|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY.</|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he | holding up one of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX.<|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY.</|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see | "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX.<|quote|>AN UNTIRING ENEMY.</|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just | Don Lavington |
Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. | No speaker | FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY.<|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.</|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor | and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY.<|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.</|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just | "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY.<|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.</|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white | him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY.<|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.</|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating | then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY.<|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.</|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great | imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY.<|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.</|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to | of the eggs, and pointing to the ferny thicket. "No, no," said Ngati, shaking his head. "Moa, moa." He stooped down and held his hands apart in different directions, as if he were describing the shape of a moderate-sized oval pumpkin. Then, rising erect, he raised one hand to the full extent of his arm, bending the fingers so as to imitate the shape of a bird's head, pressed his head against his arm, placed the left arm close to his body and a little forward, and then began to stalk about slowly. "Moa, moa," he said, dropping his arm again, and pointing to the eggs, "Kiwi, kiwi." "Kiwi, kiwi," said Jem. "Can't make out what he means, Mas' Don; but it don't matter. Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY.<|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.</|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was | to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY.<|quote|>Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.</|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It | Don Lavington |
Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. | No speaker | came and hopped about him.<|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.</|quote|>"Well," he said, "if I | in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.<|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.</|quote|>"Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should | interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.<|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.</|quote|>"Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was | those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.<|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.</|quote|>"Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring | shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.<|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.</|quote|>"Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said | Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.<|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.</|quote|>"Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. | Shall we suck the eggs raw?" He made a gesture as if to break one, but Ngati snatched it away. "No, no!" he cried sharply, and snatched the other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.<|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.</|quote|>"Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that | shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.<|quote|>Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.</|quote|>"Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and | Don Lavington |
"Well," | Jem Wimble | bobbed and bowed and chattered.<|quote|>"Well,"</|quote|>he said, "if I was | to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.<|quote|>"Well,"</|quote|>he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call | his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.<|quote|>"Well,"</|quote|>he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, | with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.<|quote|>"Well,"</|quote|>he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up | save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.<|quote|>"Well,"</|quote|>he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, | Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.<|quote|>"Well,"</|quote|>he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, | other away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.<|quote|>"Well,"</|quote|>he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they | lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.<|quote|>"Well,"</|quote|>he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I | Don Lavington |
he said, | No speaker | and bowed and chattered. "Well,"<|quote|>he said,</|quote|>"if I was naming birds, | him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well,"<|quote|>he said,</|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the | ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well,"<|quote|>he said,</|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw | its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well,"<|quote|>he said,</|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, | us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well,"<|quote|>he said,</|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the | I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well,"<|quote|>he said,</|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, | away. "Pig!" ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well,"<|quote|>he said,</|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once | about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well,"<|quote|>he said,</|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked | Don Lavington |
"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." | Jem Wimble | and chattered. "Well," he said,<|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."</|quote|>The bird looked at him | the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said,<|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."</|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly | while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said,<|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."</|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after | waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said,<|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."</|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you | bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said,<|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."</|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, | you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said,<|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."</|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came | ejaculated Jem. "Well, I do call that greedy." But if the chief was greedy over the eggs, which he secured in a roughly-made bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said,<|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."</|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling | mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said,<|quote|>"if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."</|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced | Don Lavington |
The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. | No speaker | white thing about your neck."<|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.</|quote|>"Well, you are a rum | look like one, with that white thing about your neck."<|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.</|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking | visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."<|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.</|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose | that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."<|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.</|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said | and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."<|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.</|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds | an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."<|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.</|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It | bag, of palm strips, ingeniously woven, he was generous enough over the fruit and palm, upon which they made a fair breakfast; after which Ngati examined Jem's wounds, and then signed to him to come down to the side of the stream, seizing him by the wrist, and half dragging him in his energetic way. "Is he going to drown me, Mas' Don?" "No, no, Jem. I know: he wants to bathe your wound." So it proved, for Ngati made him lie down by a pool, and tenderly washed the injuries, ending by applying some cool bruised leaves to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."<|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.</|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" | them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck."<|quote|>The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.</|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This | Don Lavington |
"Well, you are a rum little beggar," | Jem Wimble | butt and then came nearer.<|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar,"</|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's | away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.<|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar,"</|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of | and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.<|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar,"</|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and | your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.<|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar,"</|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he | the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.<|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar,"</|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts | back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.<|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar,"</|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a | to the places, and binding them up with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.<|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar,"</|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm | out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.<|quote|>"Well, you are a rum little beggar,"</|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati | Don Lavington |
said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. | No speaker | are a rum little beggar,"<|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.</|quote|>"I should just like to | then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar,"<|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.</|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to | were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar,"<|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.</|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought | knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar,"<|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.</|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," | while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar,"<|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.</|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I | Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar,"<|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.</|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, | with wild flax. This done, he examined Don's head, smiling with satisfaction because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar,"<|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.</|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us | and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar,"<|quote|>said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.</|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that | Don Lavington |
"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" | Jem Wimble | the end of the spear.<|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"</|quote|>He turned round sharply, and | stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.<|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"</|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a | bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.<|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"</|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, | the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.<|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"</|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been | delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.<|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"</|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly | himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.<|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"</|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely | because it was no worse. "Say, Mas' Don, it do feel comf'table. Why, he's quite a doctor, eh?" "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.<|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"</|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding | see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear.<|quote|>"I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"</|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the | Don Lavington |
He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. | No speaker | out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"<|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.</|quote|>"Why, I thought it was | home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"<|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.</|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said | of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"<|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.</|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? | of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"<|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.</|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted | interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"<|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.</|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking | Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"<|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.</|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the | "What?" continued Jem, staring, as Ngati made signs. "He wants you to bathe his wounds. Your arm's painful, Jem; I'll do it." Ngati lay down by the pool, and, pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"<|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.</|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a | and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!"<|quote|>He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.</|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw | Don Lavington |
"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," | Jem Wimble | sprung out of the bush.<|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"</|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear. | and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.<|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"</|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, | of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.<|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"</|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted | itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.<|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"</|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don | to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.<|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"</|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get | all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.<|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"</|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till | pulling up some moss, Don bathed a couple of ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.<|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"</|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was | Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.<|quote|>"Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"</|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had | Don Lavington |
said Jem, lowering the spear. | No speaker | was one o' they cannibals,"<|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear.</|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, | bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"<|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear.</|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should | you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"<|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear.</|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All | staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"<|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear.</|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem | chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"<|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear.</|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' | God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"<|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear.</|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple | ugly gashes and a stab, that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"<|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear.</|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he | had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals,"<|quote|>said Jem, lowering the spear.</|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati | Don Lavington |
"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" | Jem Wimble | said Jem, lowering the spear.<|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, | was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear.<|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed | in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear.<|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't | as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear.<|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how | I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear.<|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to | us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear.<|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger | that was roughly plugged with fibre. The wounds were so bad that it was a wonder to both that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear.<|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a | I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear.<|quote|>"Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were | Don Lavington |
"Sleep," | Ngati | a dig. What d'yer want?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking | I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to | Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat | came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long | thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, | her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and | that the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few | an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them | Don Lavington |
said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. | No speaker | dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.</|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?" | should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.</|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and | whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.</|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as | nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.</|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. | about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.</|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces | and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.</|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time | the great fellow could keep about; but he appeared to bear them patiently enough, smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.</|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the | "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.</|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, | Don Lavington |
"Me? What, already? Lie down?" | Jem Wimble | to where Don was lying.<|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati again; and | taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.<|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the | of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.<|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel | with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.<|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but | as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.<|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, | t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.<|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened | smiling with satisfaction as his attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.<|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an | And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.<|quote|>"Me? What, already? Lie down?"</|quote|>"Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now | Don Lavington |
"Sleep," | Ngati | "Me? What, already? Lie down?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati again; and he | to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. | thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if | spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I | in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding | CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out | attendant carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge | him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?"<|quote|>"Sleep,"</|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not | Don Lavington |
said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. | No speaker | What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.</|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't | where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.</|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so | it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.</|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as | "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.</|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost | the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.</|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint | FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.</|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising | carefully washed them, and in imitation of what he had seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.</|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, | What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep,"<|quote|>said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.</|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act | Don Lavington |
"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." | Jem Wimble | patted Jem on the shoulder.<|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."</|quote|>He nodded and walked away. | said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.<|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."</|quote|>He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me | spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.<|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."</|quote|>He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left | run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.<|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."</|quote|>He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it | that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.<|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."</|quote|>He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to | ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.<|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."</|quote|>He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster | seen, applied bruised leaves and moss, and finally bound them up with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.<|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."</|quote|>He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have | twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.<|quote|>"All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."</|quote|>He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" | Don Lavington |
He nodded and walked away. | No speaker | I'd been watching so long."<|quote|>He nodded and walked away.</|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me | right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."<|quote|>He nodded and walked away.</|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. | have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."<|quote|>He nodded and walked away.</|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and | sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."<|quote|>He nodded and walked away.</|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started | the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."<|quote|>He nodded and walked away.</|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along | weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."<|quote|>He nodded and walked away.</|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud | with native flax. Don shuddered more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."<|quote|>He nodded and walked away.</|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have a bathe!" cried Jem eagerly. | as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long."<|quote|>He nodded and walked away.</|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several | Don Lavington |
"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." | Jem Wimble | He nodded and walked away.<|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."</|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as | I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away.<|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."</|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered | What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away.<|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."</|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go | at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away.<|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."</|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll | was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away.<|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."</|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time | feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away.<|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."</|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till | more than once as he performed his task, and was glad when it was over, Jem looking on calmly the while. "Why, Mas' Don, a chap at home would want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away.<|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."</|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have a bathe!" cried Jem eagerly. "Is there time?" He stepped forward, and was about to plunge in his hand, when Ngati seized his shoulders and dragged him back. "What yer doing that for?" cried | "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away.<|quote|>"Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."</|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring | Don Lavington |
Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. | No speaker | I was getting fat enough."<|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.</|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take | he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."<|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.</|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. | patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."<|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.</|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into | cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."<|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.</|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear | Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."<|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.</|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was | had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."<|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.</|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would | want to go into hospital for less than that." "Yes, Jem; but these men seem so healthy and well, they heal up quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."<|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.</|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have a bathe!" cried Jem eagerly. "Is there time?" He stepped forward, and was about to plunge in his hand, when Ngati seized his shoulders and dragged him back. "What yer doing that for?" cried Jem. The Maori stepped forward, and made as if to dip in one of his feet, but snatched it back as if | away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough."<|quote|>Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.</|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. | Don Lavington |
"Wonder how long wounds take to heal," | Jem Wimble | was very painful and stiff.<|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"</|quote|>he said softly. "Cuts arn't | groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.<|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"</|quote|>he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. | he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.<|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"</|quote|>he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few | d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.<|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"</|quote|>he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, | and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.<|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"</|quote|>he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in | take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.<|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"</|quote|>he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could | quickly, and bear their hurts as if nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.<|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"</|quote|>he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have a bathe!" cried Jem eagerly. "Is there time?" He stepped forward, and was about to plunge in his hand, when Ngati seized his shoulders and dragged him back. "What yer doing that for?" cried Jem. The Maori stepped forward, and made as if to dip in one of his feet, but snatched it back as if in pain. Then, smiling, he twisted some | an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.<|quote|>"Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"</|quote|>he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and | Don Lavington |
he said softly. | No speaker | long wounds take to heal,"<|quote|>he said softly.</|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than | painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"<|quote|>he said softly.</|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very | that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"<|quote|>he said softly.</|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading | taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"<|quote|>he said softly.</|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns | a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"<|quote|>he said softly.</|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but | hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"<|quote|>he said softly.</|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, | nothing was wrong." "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"<|quote|>he said softly.</|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have a bathe!" cried Jem eagerly. "Is there time?" He stepped forward, and was about to plunge in his hand, when Ngati seized his shoulders and dragged him back. "What yer doing that for?" cried Jem. The Maori stepped forward, and made as if to dip in one of his feet, but snatched it back as if in pain. Then, smiling, he twisted some strands of grass | see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal,"<|quote|>he said softly.</|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or | Don Lavington |
"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" | Jem Wimble | to heal," he said softly.<|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"</|quote|>He was asleep almost as | "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly.<|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"</|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, | makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly.<|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"</|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get | he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly.<|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"</|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he | beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly.<|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"</|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati | there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly.<|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"</|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were | "Sleep," said Ngati, suddenly; and he signed to Don to lie down and to Jem to keep watch, while he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly.<|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"</|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have a bathe!" cried Jem eagerly. "Is there time?" He stepped forward, and was about to plunge in his hand, when Ngati seized his shoulders and dragged him back. "What yer doing that for?" cried Jem. The Maori stepped forward, and made as if to dip in one of his feet, but snatched it back as if in pain. Then, smiling, he twisted some strands of grass into a band, fastened the end to the palm basket, and gently lowered it, full of eggs, into the | little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly.<|quote|>"Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"</|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. "All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that | Don Lavington |
He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear. | No speaker | be able to go to--"<|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.</|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get | very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"<|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.</|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' | was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"<|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.</|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up | Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"<|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.</|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry | you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"<|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.</|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had | upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"<|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.</|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most | he lay down at once in the mossy nook close to the river, and hidden by overhanging canopies of ferns. "Oh, all right, Mas' Don, I don't mind," said Jem; "only I was just as tired as him." "Let me take the first watch, Jem." "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"<|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.</|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have a bathe!" cried Jem eagerly. "Is there time?" He stepped forward, and was about to plunge in his hand, when Ngati seized his shoulders and dragged him back. "What yer doing that for?" cried Jem. The Maori stepped forward, and made as if to dip in one of his feet, but snatched it back as if in pain. Then, smiling, he twisted some strands of grass into a band, fastened the end to the palm basket, and gently lowered it, full of eggs, into the sapphire depths, a jet of steam and a series of bubbles rising to the surface as the basket sank. "Why, Jem," said Don laughing, "you wanted to bathe in the big copper." "How was I to know that this was a foreign out-door kitchen?" replied | in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--"<|quote|>He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.</|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." "Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were | Don Lavington |
"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don." | Jem Wimble | poking him with his spear.<|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don."</|quote|>"Quick, Jem! The Maoris are | down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.<|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don."</|quote|>"Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his | be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.<|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don."</|quote|>"Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was | was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.<|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don."</|quote|>"Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts | was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.<|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don."</|quote|>"Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of | bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.<|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don."</|quote|>"Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering | "No, no; it's all right, Mas' Don. I meant you to lie down and rest, only he might ha' offered to toss for first go." "Call me then, at the end of an hour." "All right, Mas' Don," said Jem, going through the business of taking out an imaginary watch, winding it up, and then looking at its face. "Five and twenty past seven, Mas' Don, but I'm afraid I'm a little slow. These here baths don't do one's watch any good." "You'll keep a good look out, Jem." "Just so, Mas' Don. Moment I hear or see anything I calls you up. What time would you like your shaving water, sir? Boots or shoes this morning?" "Ah, Jem," said Don, smiling, "I'm too tired to laugh." And he lay back and dropped off to sleep directly, Ngati's eyes having already closed. "Too tired to laugh," said Jem to himself. "Poor dear lad, and him as brave as a young lion. Think of our coming to this. Shall we ever see old England again, and if we do, shall I be a cripple in this arm? Well, if I am, I won't grumble, but bear it all like a man; and," he added reverently, "please God save us and bring us back, if it's only for my poor Sally's sake, for I said I'd love her and cherish her, and keep her; and here am I one side o' the world, and she's t'other; and such is life." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. AN UNTIRING ENEMY. Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him. Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered. "Well," he said, "if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck." The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer. "Well, you are a rum little beggar," said Jem, stroking the bird's back with the end of the spear. "I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.<|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don."</|quote|>"Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand. From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again. Don looked inquiringly at Jem. "It's the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas' Don." "Nonsense!" "Nay, that's what it is; and what I say is this. It's all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don't let's let old Ngati--" The chief looked sharply round. "Yes, I'm a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you're not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in." "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain. "Oh, you aggrawating savage!" cried Jem. Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur. "Let's have a bathe!" cried Jem eagerly. "Is there time?" He stepped forward, and was about to plunge in his hand, when Ngati seized his shoulders and dragged him back. "What yer doing that for?" cried Jem. The Maori stepped forward, and made as if to dip in one of his feet, but snatched it back as if in pain. Then, smiling, he twisted some strands of grass into a band, fastened the end to the palm basket, and gently lowered it, full of eggs, into the sapphire depths, a jet of steam and a series of bubbles rising to the surface as the basket sank. "Why, Jem," said Don laughing, "you wanted to bathe in the big copper." "How was I to know that this was a foreign out-door kitchen?" replied Jem laughing. "And the water's boiling hot," added Don. "You can | home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I'd--Hah!" He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush. "Why, I thought it was one o' they cannibals," said Jem, lowering the spear. "Good job it wasn't dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d'yer want?" "Sleep," said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem's spear, he pointed to where Don was lying. "Me? What, already? Lie down?" "Sleep," said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder. "All right, I'll go. Didn't think I'd been watching so long." He nodded and walked away. "Wish he wouldn't pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It's just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough." Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff. "Wonder how long wounds take to heal," he said softly. "Cuts arn't much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I'm very tired, but I sha'n't be able to go to--" He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.<|quote|>"All right, Sally, I'll get up. I--Oh, it's you, Mas' Don."</|quote|>"Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming." Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening. A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right. It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off. It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made. This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes. In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature. "_Tapu_! _tapu_!" Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was "tapu," or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there. Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours' climbing, often | Don Lavington |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.