Doing and Daring: A New Zealand Story

  *CHAPTER XXI.*

  *THE VALLEY FARM.*

  Edwin laughed a merry laugh as Mr. Hirpington and his man led him awaybetween them. A ladder had been found in the pulling down of thestables. It greatly assisted the descent into the "dungeonized"kitchen, as Edwin called it. But within, everything was as dirty andcomfortless as before.

  "They laugh who win," he whispered, undoing a single button of hisjacket, and displaying a corner of the wash-leather belt. "Where isfather?" he asked, looking eagerly along the row of open doors, andsingling out his recent cage as the most comfortable of the littledormitories. A glance told him it was not without an inhabitant. Butit was Hal's voice which answered from the midst of the blankets, intones of intense self-congratulation, "I'm in bed, lad. Think o' that.Really abed."

  "And mind you keep there," retorted Edwin, looking back to Mr.Hirpington for a guiding word, as he repeated impatiently, "Where'sfather? Has he seen the captain?"

  "Father," echoed Mr. Hirpington, "is safe, safe at home; and we willfollow him there as soon as I get rid of these troublesome guests."

  "Sit down, boy, if you do not mind the mud and cold. Sit down and eat,"said Dunter kindly. He opened the kitchen cupboard, and pointed to somebiscuits and cheese which he had reserved for their own supper. "It isall they have left us," he sighed. "We have fed them a whole day just tokeep the Queen's peace. We thought they would eat us up when theymarched down on us, clamouring for you and the bag you had stolen fromNga-Hepe and hidden in our hayloft. But master is up to 'em. 'Well,'says he, 'if the bag has ever been in my hay-loft, it is there still;and if it is there, we'll find it. Pull the loft down. Clear out everystick and stone that is left of my stables, an' welcome.' You see, itmust all be cleared down before we could begin to build up again," addedDunter, confidentially.

  "It was a happy thought," said Mr. Hirpington, rubbing his hands, "andit took. I ran myself to set the example, and knocked over the shakydoor-post, and then the work of demolition went forward with a will.Nothing like a good spell of hard work to cool a man down. Of coursethey did not find the bag. But Nga-Hepe's neighbours have found so manyold nails and hooks and hinges they have stuck to their task; they areat it yet, but the dusk will disperse them. Their excuse is gone.Still," he went on, "'all is well that ends well.' You might have foundthe place a smouldering ash-heap. We know their Maori ways when theymean to dislodge an English settler. They come as they came last night,set fire to his house, pull up his fences, and plough up his fields.The mud preserved me from anything of that sort beginning unawares.Nothing would burn. We have picked up more than one charred stick, sothey had a try at it; and as for the fences, they are all buried. Whenthe coast is clear you and I must prepare for a starlight walk throughthe bush to your father's farm."

  "Will they molest father?" asked Edwin anxiously.

  "No, no," answered both in a breath. "Your father's farm is on theother side of the river, not on Hau-Hau ground. It belonged to anothertribe, the Arewas, who are 'friendless,' as we say. We told you yourfather was safe if we could but get him home. And so am I," continuedMr. Hirpington, "for I can always manage my neighbours and appreciatethem too; for they are men at heart, and we like each other. And thereis a vein of honour in Nga-Hepe and his son according to their lightwhich you may safely trust, yet they are not civilized Englishmen."

  "But Whero will be--" Edwin began; but his bright anticipations for thefuture of his Maori friend were cut short by a strange, unearthlysound--a wild, monotonous chant which suddenly filled the air. As thedusk fell around them, the Maoris still sitting over Marileha'a supperhad begun to sing to drive away the fairies, which they imagine are inevery dancing leaf and twittering bird. Then, one by one, the canoeswhich had brought them there began to fill, and as the swarthy facesdisappeared, silence and loneliness crept over the dismantled ford.

  Nga-Hepe proved his friend's assertions true, for Beauty was honourablyreturned. They found him tied by the bridle to the only post on thepremises which had been left standing. Perhaps it had been spared forthe purpose. The gun was loaded, such wraps as Dunter could gettogether were all put on, and Edwin and Mr. Hirpington started. Thefirst step was not a pleasant one--a plunge into the icy river and ascramble up the opposite bank, from which even Beauty seemed to shrink.But the gallop over the frosty ground which succeeded took off thecomfortless chill and dried their draggled coats. Mr. Hirpington gotdown and walked by Beauty's head, as they felt the gradual descentbeginning, and heard the splash of the rivulet against the stones, andsaw the bright lights from Edwin's home gleam through the eveningshadows. A scant half-hour that almost seemed a year in its reluctanceto slip away, a few more paces, and Beauty drew up at the gatelessenclosure. A bar thrown across kept them outside. A gleeful shout, athunderous rain of blows upon the bar, and the impatient stamping ofBeauty's feet brought Cuthbert and Arthur Bowen almost tumbling over oneanother to receive them. The welcome sound of the hammer, the stir andmovement all about the place, told Edwin that the good work ofrestoration had already begun. The bar went down with a thud. It wasCuthbert, in his over-joy at seeing his brother, who had banged it tothe ground. The noise brought out the captain.

  "It is a short journey to Christchurch," exclaimed Cuthbert. "How manymiles?"

  "I'm in no mood for arithmetic," retorted Edwin, bounding up the remnantof a path beside the captain, with Cuthbert grasping him by the otherhand. Arthur Bowen took Beauty by the bridle.

  "I'll see after him," said Mr. Hirpington.

  But young Bowen responded gaily, "Think me too fresh from Greek andLatin to supper a horse, do you? I'll shoe him too if occasion requiresit, like a true-born New Zealander."

  "Brimful of self-help," retorted Mr. Hirpington; "and, after all, it isthe best help.-- Well, well," he added, as he paused in the doorway,"to take the measure of our recuperative power would puzzle a stranger.You beat me hollow."

  He had walked into the sometime workshop; but all the debris of therecent carpentering had been pushed aside and heaped into a distantcorner, while an iron chimney, with a wooden framework to support it,had been erected in another.

  "In simply no time," as Mr. Hirpington declared in his astonishment.

  To which the old identity, Mr. Bowen, retorted from the other room,asking if two men with a hammer to hand and a day before them were to beexpected to do nothing but look at each other.

  Mr. Lee was reposing on a comfortable bed by the blazing fire, withEffie standing beside him, holding the tin mug from which he was takingan occasional sip of tea; everything in the shape of earthenware havinggone to smash in the earthquake. The kitten was purring on the cornerof his pillow, stretching out an affectionate paw towards his undefendedeyes.

  "I am reaping the fruit of your good deeds," smiled the sick man. "Isnot this luxury?"

  With a leap and a bound Edwin was at the foot of the bed, holding up therecovered belt before his father's astonished eyes.

  Audrey peeped out from the door of the store-room. With a piece ofpumice-stone to serve her for a scrubbing-brush, she was endeavouring toreduce its shelves to cleanliness and order.

  "You here!" exclaimed Edwin, delighted to find themselves all at homeonce more; "ready for the four-handed reel which we will dance to-nightif it does not make father's head ache," he declared, escaping fromEffie's embracing arms to Audrey's probing questions about that journeyto Christchurch.

  "Since you must have dropped from the skies yourself to have reachedhome at all, it need excite no wonder," he said.

  "Me!" she replied demurely. "Why, I arrived at my father's door, like acorrect young lady, long enough before any of you wanderers andvagabonds thought of returning. Our good friend the oyster-captain, asCuth will call him, sent me a message by one of Mr. Feltham's shepherdsthat my father wanted me to nurse him, and I hastened to obey. Mrs.Feltham lent me her own habit, and I rode home with my groom, behind me,in grand style for an
honest charwoman just released from washingteacups and beating eggs. My wages taken in kind loaded the panniers ofmy steed, and I felt like a bee or an ant returning to the hive with itsstore of honey."

  "That is my best medicine," murmured Mr. Lee, as the merry laugh withwhich Audrey's words were greeted rang through the house.

  Mr. Lee was slowly counting his remaining coin. He looked at Audrey.Without another word she led her brothers away, Effie following as amatter of course, and left him with his friend.

  "Come and look round," whispered Audrey to Edwin.

  "And help," he answered. "It does not square with my ideas to letstrangers put a prop against the falling roof and I stand idle."

  "Conceited boy!" cried Audrey, "to match your skill against ouroyster-captain's."

  She ran lightly down the veranda steps and pointed to the bluff sailor,hammering at a sheet of iron he had brought from the ruins of the stableto patch the tumble-down walls of the house.

  With the rough-and-ready skill of a ship-carpenter he had set himself tothe task the moment he arrived.

  "No, no thanks, my boys," he said, as Edwin and Cuthbert looked up atthe strong framework of beam and cross-bar which he had erected in sobrief a space, and burst into exclamations of wonder and delight.

  "It was the one thing we could not do; it was beyond us all," addedEdwin. "It is true, the poles lay ready on the ground and the nailswere rusting on the workshop floor, but the skill that could splice abeam or shore up a rafter was not ours. There was nobody about us whocould do it."

  "I saw what was wanting when I helped to bring your father home, and itset my compass, so I came back to do it. A Jack-of-all-trades like me Iknew could make the old place ship-shape in a couple of days, and whenthe old gentleman and his grandson saw what I was after, their coatswere off in a moment, and they have worked beside me with a will allday," replied the captain.

  Finding Mr. Lee awake, Mr. Bowen had taken the opportunity to join thequiet council over ways and means which he was holding with his friend.

  "Now just look on me as a neighbour, for what is fifty miles in NewZealand? and remember I do not want anybody to tell me this disasterleaves you both in an awkward strait. If there is one thing we havelearned in our far-off corner in the Southern Ocean, it is to practiseour duty to our neighbour. Dr. Hector bears me out in thinking thatafter such an eruption as this there will probably be peace in the hillsagain, perhaps for hundreds of years. No one remembers such an outbreakof subterranean force, no one ever heard of such an one before, and allwe can do is to help each other. If a loan will be of use to you totide over it, just tell me the figure, and I'll write it down. Nocounting, Mr. Lee, if you please; I tell you the debtor account is allon my side. Those little lads--"

  The thud of the captain's hammer drowned his voice.

  "The same feeling," he added, "which lends its ring to that hammerpoints my pen, and you must just remember, while you are lying here, howwe all envy you your quartette."

  They could hear the merry laughter from the group in the veranda, whereAudrey was singing,--

  "What lads ere did our lads will do; Were I a lad, I would follow him too."

  Effie gravely expostulated with her sister. "I really do think, Audrey,we ought to say now what our lads have done."

  "Ah! but I fear they have something more to do," cried Edwin, suddenlycatching his little sister round the waist, not in play but in panicfear, as he heard the trampling as of many horses crossing the bush. Hewhirled her into the house and pushed Audrey after her, as the captainceased nailing to listen.

  Arthur Bowen was by Edwin's side as he spoke. With one impulse the barwas lifted to its place, and the trio retreated to the veranda. A longtrain of pack-horses came winding down the valley.

  Which was coming--friend or foe?

  The boys stood very close to each other, ready to bolt in-doors at amoment's warning. Edwin was at once the bravest and the mostapprehensive.

  "You had better go to father and leave us two to watch," he said to hisbrother.

  "But old Cuth won't go," muttered the little fellow, squaring hisshoulders and planting his foot firmly on the ground as he took hisstand between them.

  "Holloa! ho! oh!" shouted a cheery voice they all knew well.

  "It is Ottley! it is Ottley!" was echoed from side to side.

  Down went the bar once more. Out ran the trio, leaping, jumping,chasing each other over the uneven ground, strewed with the broken armsfrom the fallen giants of the neighbouring forest. They raced eachother across the valley in the exuberance of their boyish spirits, letloose by the momentary relief from the pressure and the fetters whichhad been crushing them to earth.

  "Until the coach can run again," said Ottley, as they came up to himlaughing and panting, "I have started a pack-horse team to carry upsupplies. The roadmen are rebuilding their huts, and as I came alongthey warned me one and all to avoid the ford to-night. They wereanticipating a bit of warm work up there with their Maori neighbours,and were holding themselves ready to answer the fordmaster's signal atany moment. They told me of a crossing lower down the stream. Thefords were sure to shift their places after such a time as we have had.I found myself so near the valley farm, I turned aside to water myhorses at the rivulet, and rest for the night."

  "Come along," cried Edwin; "father will be glad to see you. But therehas been no scrimmage at the ford; trust Mr. Hirpington for that."

  Ottley paused to release his weary team, and let them slake their thirstwith the so-called water at their feet, which really was not all sulphurand sludge.

  "I am not sure," he said compassionately, as he brought up the tiredhorses one after another, "that the poor animals have not had a worsetime of it than we men; for their food and drink are gone, and itgrieved me to see them dying by the wayside as I came."

  The boys helped him to measure out the corn and hobble them for thenight in the shelter of the valley.

  Then Ottley looked around to ascertain the state of Mr. Lee's newfields. Three men were lingering by the site of the charcoal fires.

  "There are the rabbiters," said Cuthbert, "just as usual!"

  "Nonsense," returned his brother; "the gang is dispersed."

  "Well, there they are," he persisted; and he was right.

  They marched on steadily, as if they were taking their nightly round,but instead of the familiar traps, each one carried a young pig in hisarms.

  Pig-driving, as Pat does it at Ballyshannon fair, is a joke topig-carrying when the pig is a wild one, born and reared in the bush.On they came with their living burdens, after a fashion which calledforth the loudest merriment on the part of the watchers.

  "Is Farmer Lee about again?" they asked, as they came up with thepack-horse train.

  Ottley shook his head and pointed to the laughing boys beside him,saying, "These are his sons."

  "No matter," they replied, with a dejected air. "We cannot get our gangtogether. Hal is down, and Lawford missing. We've been hunting a pigor two over Feltham's run, and we've brought 'em up to Farmer Lee. Theyare good 'uns, and they will make him three fat hogs by-and-by, if helikes to keep 'em. We have heard something of what that Lawford has beenafter, and we are uncommon mad about it, for fear the farmer shouldthink we had any hand in it."

  "He knows you had not," returned Edwin. "It is all found out. But I donot think Lawford will show his face here any more. I am sure my fatherwill be pleased with such a present, and thank you all heartily." As hespoke he held out his hand, and received a true old Yorkshire gripe.

  "There are three of us," he went on, glancing at Arthur and Cuthbert;"but can we get such gifties home?"

  "And what will you do with them when they are there?" asked Arthur;"unless, like Paddy, you house them in the corner of the cabin."

  Ottley, always good at need, came to the help, and proposed to lend hisempty corn-bags for the transit.

  Back they went in triumph, each with a sack on his back and a strugglingpig
fighting his way out of it.

  The kicking and the squealing, the biting and the squalling, the screamsand the laughs, broke up the conference within doors, and augmented theparty at the supper, which Audrey and Effie were preparing from thecontents of the panniers.

  "The pack-horse train a realized fact!" exclaimed Mr. Bowen.--"Come,Arthur; that means for us the rest of our journey made easy. We must beready for a start at any hour."

  "If your time is to be my time," interposed Ottley, who was entering atthe moment, "we shall all wait for the morning."

  "Wait for the morning," repeated the captain, as he lit his pipe."There is a bigger world of wisdom in that bit of advice than you thinkfor. It is what we have all got to do at times, as we sailors soon findout."

  A light tread beneath the window caught Edwin's ear. Surely he knewthat step. It was--it must be Whero's.

  He was out on the veranda in a moment. There was his Maori friendwandering round the house in the brilliant starshine, stroking his kaka.

  "I cannot live upon my hill alone," said Whero. "I have followed you,but I should cry hoke to you in vain. I will take my bird and go backto Tuaranga--it will be safe among my Maori school-fellows--until hungershall have passed away from the hills."

  Edwin's arm went round him as he cried out gleefully, "Ottley, Ottley,here are two more passengers for the pack-horse train!"

  THE END.

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