“Well Peter, have you caught many fish?” exclaimed the eldest of the boys, casting, at the same time, an inquiring glance at the native.

“Enough for supper for all hands and breakfast to-morrow morning, Master Harry; and this queer gentleman here, gave me a big eel, which will make pretty near dinner enough for us all, too,” answered Peter, pointing to the native. The latter took this for an introduction and stepped forward, just as Major Parry, with a hammer in his hand, came from behind the cottage, at which he had been at work.

“I am glad to see you, my friend,” said the Major, frankly putting out his hand.

“Yes, berry,” answered the native, who took the Major's hand, though he had at first shown an inclination to rub noses, a mode of greeting each other usual among the New Zealanders.

“Come in and sit down; we shall have some supper ready soon, and you will take some I hope.” The native nodded and went with the Major into the circle, where he was introduced to Mrs. Parry and her two daughters. Emily, who was grown up, and little Julia. There was an old nurse also, Mrs. Ann Perkins, who had accompanied the family for love of them, though she might have lived in comfort at home; and a youngish girl, Jane Green, who had come as a servant of all work, as a good servant will make up her mind to be in a colony. There were two men still at work on the house, One was a fine tall old man, as upright as a poplar, his hair just sprinkled over with grey; he was Thomas Allan, once a corporal in the gallant — regiment of foot, the major's old regiment. We will give his history by-and-by. It did not require two looks to see that the other man was a native of Ireland. His grey coat and breeches, his battered hat, his turn-up nose, and twinkling eyes, and short pipe, his beloved dhudeen, scarcely ever from his lips, whether alight or not. Tim Grogan had spent probably nearly a third of all the money he had ever made in his life in buying tobacco to turn into smoke.

While the three boys, Harry, David, and Freddy, carried the fish, and taking them out, placed them before their mother and nurse Perkins, the major begged the chief to take his seat before a table-cloth which was spread picnic fashion on the grass. He offered him a box as a seat of honour, but the chief preferred squatting down on the ground in native fashion, with his knees raised towards his chin. The fish was soon cooked by Nurse Perkins, and all the party then assembled round the cloth to take their evening meal. Allan, Downes, and Grogan, in respect for their master, sitting a little apart, while Jane Green handed them their food. I rather think that Peter Downes came in for the best share from her hands; no wonder! Peter was an honest, industrious lad, and there wasn't any right thing in the world he wouldn't do to please Jane. The native behaved very well, and watched the major and his family, that he might do in all things as they did, in the way of conveying the food to his mouth; indeed his manners were quite those of a gentleman. He bent his head reverentially when the major said grace after supper, and not till then did he make an attempt to explain the reason of his visit to the settlement. It was not without difficulty that the major made out what he wanted. By dint however of signs and a few words, he let it be understood that he was the chief of a small tribe; that the rest had been destroyed by their enemies; that he lived at a pah, a fortified village, on the top of a hill, about six miles off, that his wife and his sons were dead, and that he had an only daughter, whom he loved dearly, and who was now very ill—so ill that he feared she would die. He knew that the white men, especially the chiefs, were often able to cure disease, and that he had therefore come to entreat the new settler, the major, to visit his pah, and to try and cure his daughter. The major considered before he answered. The only medical man in the district lived many miles off, and most probably would not be able to come if sent for . If he himself went, he might be of some service to the sick girl. He had brought a medicine chest, and having had a good deal of experience, he knew well how to make use of it.

“I will go with you, my friend,” he said at length. “But know that I cannot cure your daughter. To cure sickness is in the power of God alone; I will give such medicine as I believe will be of service to her.”

The native, it seemed, understood more English than he could speak, for, as the major addressed him, an expression of thankfulness came over his countenance, and he warmly shook the major's hand. The ladies, with nurse Perkins and Jane, had already taken possession of the new cottage at night, as, even in its unfinished state, it was more comfortable than the wagon, which the major and the boys still occupied, or than the huts. One of the huts was offered as a lodging to the native for the night, and he gladly accepted it, evidently much pleased with the attention shown him. As soon as it became dark, and no more work could be done, Major Parry collected all the party, and read a chapter in the Bible, which he explained to them; he then offered up prayer, and a hymn having been sung, with spirits calmed and refreshed, the family and their servants retired to their respective sleeping-places. If all families who call themselves Christians would follow the example of Major Parry, how much happier and more like real Christians would they be.

While the family and their wild-looking guest are asleep, I will give a further account of them, and of the country which they had made their home. Major Parry had been for many years in the army, the greater part of which time he had served abroad, and had been engaged in numerous battles. When between forty and fifty, in consequence of the failure of a bank in which his property was placed, he was left with his pay only to support his numerous family. Should he die, that would be lost, and except the pension which his widow would obtain, there would be nothing on which they could live. He therefore made up his mind to leave the army, and with the money which he would receive for his commission, to settle with his family in a British colony. All his servants wished to accompany him, but he could take but three. Nurse Perkins, however, insisted on paying her own passage, and he was therefore able to take Peter Downes, greatly to the young man's joy, for he loved his master and mistress and their children, and he also was very unhappy at the thought of being separated from Jane Green. The idea also, that she might not again see Peter Downes, had made Jane very sad; indeed it was the only thing that caused her any sorrow at leaving England. When the major, as a lad, first joined his regiment, Thomas Allan was a soldier in it, and not long after he became the young ensign's servant. In many a battle they fought side by side, and where his master led, there Thomas Allan was sure to follow. At length a shot brought Allan to the ground. The enemy were coming on in great numbers, killing all the wounded they found. The English were forced to give way till their reserves could be brought up, but Lieutenant Parry calling his men around him, held them in check, and then, when compelled to retire, took Allan up on his back, and retreated slowly with him. On another occasion, some years afterwards, Allan crossed an open space before a besieged town, under the walls of which his captain lay wounded, and brought him through a tremendous fire unhurt. These and many other acts of mutual service had bound the master and his servant together in the-closest bonds of friendship, and the major well knew, that should he die, as long as Allan lived his family would have a staunch friend and protector. When, therefore, the major told Allan that he thought of going to New Zealand, the answer was, “Yes, major; I think that it is the best thing that we can do. There's work out in those countries, I've heard say, for young and old, gentle and simple; and thank Heaven, there'll be something to be got out of my arms for ten years to come or more.” There was not a doubt uttered about his going, indeed, the major well knew that nothing would stop him.

Mrs. Parry had not been so certain about Nurse Perkins being willing to share their fortunes, and proposed her leaving them.

“What, dear marm! leave you! I who have lived with you ever since you were a little child, and who have never since then put a morsel of bread into my mouth which was not given me by your family ! No, no!” she answered, ready to burst into tears. “If you were going away to some fine place where I might be in your way, and could be of no more service to you, it might be a different matter.”

Mrs. Parry, therefore, with a thankful heart, agreed that Nurse Perkins should accompany them. Jane and Peter were very glad out of several applicants to be selected. They were young and strong, and Major and Mrs. Parry had no doubt about their doing well. They might have suspected that they would be happier together than apart. Tim Grogan only joined the party when they landed in New Zealand. The major found him wandering about, without anything to do. He recollected him as a well-behaved young soldier in his regiment, but Tim didn't keep out of the grog-shop—I will not say that he could not. He fell ill in consequence of his bad habits, and was discharged from the army. At last, with the help of some charitable people, he found his way out to New Zealand. He had, however, been brought up to no trade, and as he had not a very good account to give of himself, he could get no employment. The major spoke to Allan about him.

“I always thought him an obedient, civil, honest, obliging fellow. He was a smart soldier, much liked by his comrades, and he hadn't a fault about him till he took to drinking,” answered Allan.

“Then I will engage him, if he will promise to give up the drink while he is with us,” said the major. “That will show him how easy it is to give it up altogether.” So Tim was engaged, and neither he nor his employer had hitherto any cause to complain of the arrangement.

Such was the party who had just taken up their abode on the property purchased by Major Parry.

New Zealand, the country in which they had come to settle, is one of the finest of England's colonies. It consists of three islands in a line, making indeed, one long thin island, divided by two narrow straits. It is about a thousand miles south-east of Australia. The northern island in which the Parry family settled is the most thickly inhabited by natives, but the English living in the three islands, already far outnumber the natives. When visited by Captain Cook, just a hundred years ago, the natives were very numerous, and were among the fiercest and most warlike of any of the people of the Pacific Ocean. They were also fearful cannibals, and made a practice of eating up all the enemies they took in war. These habits they continued for many years, till one half had killed the other half, when missionaries went among them with the principles of Christianity. Many became sincere Christians, a large number only called themselves so (as a large number of people in civilized countries call themselves Christians, though they do not deserve the name), while a good many tribes remained heathens. They still fought among each other, and have several times attacked the English, and from the hilly nature of the country, thick forests and fortified posts, or pahs, they caused a great deal of trouble, and month after month, managed to keep the English troops in check. In 1838, the country was taken regular possession of by the English, the natives agreeing to become subjects of the Queen of Great Britain. They have since then, however, often rebelled, but most of their warlike chiefs having died, and roads having been made into the interior, there is every reason to hope that they will remain on friendly terms with their fellow-subjects the English settlers. The native men are strongly built, tall and powerful, with intelligent features and well-formed heads. They are darker than gipsies, and were in the habit of marking their skins with all sorts of devices in lines, called tattooing. As, however, they become civilized and adopt the habits of the English, they give up this custom.

So much attention has been paid to the education of the children, that by far the larger number of young people can both read and write. They adapt themselves very readily to the habits of civilized life. Many own grist mills, others coasting-vessels, both captain and crew being natives; some keep inns, and being sober men, make good and obliging hosts. The son of one of the fiercest chiefs, kept the best-conducted country inn in the colony. They make good axemen, and readily engage in agricultural pursuits. Still, though they are intelligent, sober, and industrious, they are rapidly decreasing in numbers.

New Zealand is a very fine and beautiful country. It has high mountains, on the top of which the snow rests; wild hills, forests, lakes, rivers, and streams; fertile valleys and upland plains, on which sheep in great numbers are pastured. In the northern island the climate is warmer than that of England in summer, and never so cold, though strong winds occasionally blow. In the middle island the climate is more like that of England, though on the whole superior to it; while in the small south island it is rather damper, and more subject to stormy winds. The soil is generally good in every direction, and being well watered is very fertile. There are English settlements in all parts. In the northern island there is first, Auckland the capital, on the north-eastern shore; then Wellington, on the south shore, which forms the north side of Cook's Straits, and lastly, New Plymouth, a fertile district, though without a harbour, on the west coast. In the middle island there is Nelson, on the north, that is on the south side of Cook's Strait; the Canterbury settlement on the east coast, with Christchurch the capital; and farther south, on the same side, Otago, with Dunedin the capital. The Canterbury settlement was founded by Church of England people, who expected that only Church of England people would go there; while Otago was founded by Scotch Presbyterians, with much the same idea. In both settlements, however, there are people of all denominations, who have their respective churches and chapels. Both the north and middle island have fine pastures both for sheep and cattle. In the southern island, which is small, the settlers are chiefly engaged in the whale and seal fisheries. It must be remembered that New Zealand is in the southern half of the globe; that is to say, directly on the opposite side to England, so that the south, which is towards the south pole, is the coldest part. Major Parry and his family had gone to the southern part of the northern island, between Wellington and New Plymouth

The native, who said that his name was Toi Korro, led the way in a direct line across the country, till he struck the stream where Peter had met him; he then went up the bank some little distance, and crossed the river at a ford where the water was about two feet deep. He insisted that David should get on his back, and that he would carry him over. Tim carried over Harry in the same way. After crossing the stream, their path lay through a thick forest of Kauri pine-tree. It grows to a very great height, as straight as an arrow, and is admirably fitted for the masts of ships. Large numbers are used for this purpose. A valuable gum is also procured from this tree; it is, besides, well suited for furniture. The major had as yet gone very little into the interior, and he was particularly struck with the enormous size of the ferns, sixty and seventy feet high, and yet in appearance very like the common ferns in England. Although there are not half the variety of birds in New Zealand that there are in England, yet they collect in considerable numbers about the settlements, and sing very sweetly too. In these dark forests, however, scarcely a bird is to be seen or heard; for a very good reason, the songsters of the feathered tribe like the warm sun and free air, and the open ground, from which insects and grain are to be picked up, so they frequent spots where these can be found.

The chief led the way along the narrow path at a rapid rate, cutting with his axe the tendrils of the creepers which here and there hung across it. He was naturally in a hurry to get back to his daughter, whom it was clear from the way he spoke, he loved dearly. At last, either the same stream before passed or another was struck. The chief then leading up the bank a little way, the party saw before them a high, very steep hill, or mound, the base of which was washed by the river. On the top of it could be seen some lines of tall railings, or palisades, twisting and turning about in a variety of directions, while above them appeared some large curiously carved figures of animals and human heads, painted red.

“Dat my pah,” said the chief, by which they knew that it was his home.

A very steep winding path led up the hill, following which they reached a small gateway in the palisade. This led them into a narrow passage between two rows of palisades, formed of trunks of trees, till at length they came to another gateway. This led them into a second passage, which twisted about like the first, and it was not till they reached a third door that they found themselves in the interior of the pah. This was a wide, open space, with huts built about it in different directions, and tall poles, on the top of which appeared the carved figures they had seen at a distance. The gable ends of the huts were also ornamented with carved and painted figures of hideous forms. The huts were built of poles and boughs, thickly roofed with long grass, and had neither doors nor windows. A whole pack of dogs rushed out as the visitors appeared at the inner gateway, barking and yelping, the uproar being increased by the grunting of pigs, the quacking of ducks, the hissing of geese, and the cackling, of hens, and the screaming voices of women. The dogs, however, were soon driven back by the chief, and the women jumping up greeted him by rubbing their noses against his. They were inclined to treat the major and the boys in the same way; but they, having heard of the custom, were prepared for the assault, and put out their hands to shake those of the ladies instead. Tim was not so fortunate, and his snub was, he declared, almost twisted off by the violence of the attack.

“Arrah now, manners is manners, and I've no doubt ye treat me after your own notion of what's right; but I'd rather be after having a sweet kiss from any of ye, or an honest shake of the hand now,” he exclaimed, as he put back his dhudeen, which he had for a moment taken from his mouth.

The ceremony of introduction to the elder members of the tribe being over, the chief led the way to his own abode which was little superior to the others, except that it had more carved images in front of it. A fire was burning in the middle, which filled the whole hut with smoke; in one corner, on a pile of rugs, lay a girl. By the light that came in at the doorway, Major Parry saw-that she was young and far more pretty than the girls of New Zealand are generally. She kept moving restlessly, and was continually putting her hand up to her head, and moaning as if in great pain: the Major felt her pulse, which was very high. She did not appear to be exactly in a fever, indeed he had to confess to himself that he did not know what was the matter with her. One thing only seemed certain, that she had very little chance of getting well in the thick choking smoke and foul air which filled the hut. “What she most requires is pure air, wholesome food, and perhaps a little cooling medicine,” he said to himself. “That she will not get here, and if the chief will let her come, I am sure that my wife and Nurse Perkins will gladly look after her.”

He made the offer as he proposed, and when the chief understood it, he was very grateful and accepted it gladly. As she was accustomed to live in the open air, there seemed to be no risk in moving her; and under the Major's directions, a litter was soon formed with a roof of boughs, which would protect her from the sun and air alike. The chief however would not let his visitors depart without partaking of his hospitality. A fire had for some time been burning in a large hole, or native oven, by the side of the hut. The women were set to work to catch some fowls; these in a short space of time were killed and plucked; they had also prepared a nice little fat pig, which they bound round with green leaves. A basketful of fish was also ready for cooking, and another of potatoes.

Tim looked on in silent wonder at this mode of proceeding, of which he had never heard; the boys however, had read about it, and watched the women with less surprise, though with equal interest The nest thing the women did, was to take out all the ashes, and then they put in the pig and the chickens above it, and next a layer of potatoes and more leaves; then the fish, and then more potatoes, and then more leaves; over them they sprinkled a little water, and filled the hole up with leaves, over all was placed a thick layer of earth and sods.

Tim's natural good breeding could scarcely prevent him from bursting into a fit of laughter at the food being cooked in that way.

“Faix, we'll be pretty hungry I'm after thinking before the pig will be fit for dacent Christians to eat, let alone the praties and the fowls and the fish, if that's the way they are after cooking them,” he observed aside to Harry.

“Wait a bit, Tim,” answered Harry; “it is possible to learn a lesson from a painted savage.”

The care of the native girl occupied a good deal of Mrs. Parry time. Still she did not grudge it, as she had the satisfaction of seeing her charge gradually getting over the disease. If a family with small means in a new colony wishes to succeed, every member of it must work; and Mrs. Parry, anxious to set a good example to her children and to her servants, was in the habit of working harder than anybody. At last Yeda was out of danger; but it was still necessary that she should take great care not to catch cold, which she was very likely to do if she returned home before she had completely recovered. Emily, too, was anxious to have her stay longer with them. A warm friendship had sprung up between the two girls. It was difficult to say which loved the other the most. Yeda admired her English friend for her superior knowledge, her gentleness, her beauty, while Emily was interested in the native girl whose signs of gratitude and affection could not be mistaken. Emily found also that although not altogether ignorant of Christianity, she did not understand its truths, and she was therefore most anxious to instruct her in them. Yeda already knew a little English, and every day learned more and more; and thus as she improved in her knowledge of the language, the better able she was to understand the instruction given to her by Emily. Twice her father came to fetch her away, and each time Emily entreated that she might remain; so she was allowed to stay on. As soon as she was well enough to go out of the house, she showed that she was anxious to make herself useful. Among other things she managed the oven far better than the settlers had been able to manage it. She showed Emily also how to make the native cloth and baskets, and was equally ready to milk the cows, or to churn, or to sweep out the house.

On one of the visits the chief, Toi Korro, paid to Holmwood, Major Parry had applied to him for some of his people to assist in clearing the land. He sent six fine young fellows, who, with their axes, did a fair amount of work. Their nominal pay was low, but as they had to be fed, and ate largely, their labour cost nearly as much as that of Englishmen would have done. Still, as they were sober and steady, the major was very glad to get them.

One day, the chief arrived, showing by his manner and the expression of his countenance that some matter of consequence weighed greatly on his mind. What it was he would not say, but he insisted that his daughter must no longer remain away from home; and the men having performed their task for for which they had been sent, must also return.

Major Parry inquired the reason of this.

The chief looked grave and vexed, and said that it must be so. Yeda shed many tears when she heard that she must return to the pah. Her father would give her no reason, but that it must be so. She was now well able to perform the journey on foot, and no litter was required; but one of her father's attendants was told to carry the presents of clothing and other articles which she had received. Emily herself was quite moved when her friend was on the point of going. She made Yeda promise to come again as soon as she could obtain her father's leave. The native girl indeed showed by every means in her power, that she was grateful for the kindness lavished on her. Nothing particular occurred on the farm for some days after the departure of the natives. The major felt the loss of the services of the natives very much, and he was unable to get as much ground cleared as he had hoped.

At length a dray, which he had sent for flour and other provisions and necessaries, returned, and brought a number of letters. As he sat reading them at supper, his wife and daughter saw his countenance change.

“Is there bad news?” they asked, “if there is, do not keep it from us.”

“It is simply news to make me anxious,” answered Major Parry. “The natives in the centre of the island have again risen against the English. They, as before, declare that certain lands claimed by settlers were not sold to them, or if sold, were not paid for, or that those who sold them had no right to do so. To maintain what they consider their rights, they have set up a chief who claims to be king of the whole island, or of all New Zealand, though at no time have the tribes ever been united under one king. They announce that it is their intention to drive the English into the sea, and have already murdered several people, and some of our troops sent against them, have lost several men, and been compelled to retire. It is feared that the insurrection will spread to other parts.

“I find, by a dispatch from the governor, that I am appointed a magistrate for this district, and am directed to use every influence I may possess with the natives to induce them to remain faithful to the Government, and to promise rewards to those who assist in putting down the rebellion. A proclamation has been sent me, which I must try and get distributed among them. I will first see our friend, Toi Korro, I am sure that he is personally attached to the English. To-morrow morning I will set out and secure him if I can.”

The ladies naturally became very anxious on hearing this news. They were in a very exposed situation, and should any of the neighbouring tribes lay claim to the land they held, they might be attacked and driven out, and perhaps murdered, as other settlers had been at different times.

The major's preparations for his journey were soon made. Harry begged that he might go, and Mrs. Parry entreated that the major would take Allan and Tim with him as a body-guard. It was considered too, that they would have a good deal of influence with the natives who had been working under them. The major and his followers filled their knapsacks with goods as presents to them, and to the neighbouring tribes whom he proposed visiting.

The travellers pushed on as fast as they could go, like old soldiers, keeping a good look out on either side.

The name of this chief was Moodewhy. He was of the old style. He wore the native cloak, and feathers in his hair, and bones hanging from his ears. His face was curiously tattoed all over, and though he used a musket in warfare, he generally appeared abroad with a spear in his hand. His eldest son, Matangee, was in most respects like him, and was desirous, it was said, to marry Yeda, Toi Korro's daughter. She, however, showed no inclination to become his wife, but on the contrary, a decided dislike to him, especially since her visit to Holmwood. This had made Matangee very angry, and still more inclined than ever to quarrel with the English. In vain Major Parry talked to old Moodewhy; his only reply was, that his fathers had driven their foes, who had trespassed on their lands, into the sea, and that he saw no reason why the present generation should not act in the same way towards their enemies. Toi Korro at length grew very uneasy, and he whispered to the major that the sooner they left the pah the better. When they got outside, the friendly chief said that he breathed more freely, and advised that they should endeavour to conceal their movements from the old chief, and that they should take a different direction to what they had proposed. The major saw the wisdom of this advice, and guided by Toi Korro, made a long circuit, calling on other leaders and chief men on their way. To all of them he read the governor's proclamation, and he was satisfied with the assurances he received that they would remain faithful to the English. Having made a long circuit, the party reached Toi Korro's pah. On entering the enclosure they found it, greatly to the chief's surprise, filled with people. In the centre stood Matangee. It was very evident what he was about. This was confirmed by Yeda, who ran forward to meet her father. “Oh speak to them,” she exclaimed; “or he will persuade them to join the rebels.”

On hearing this, the major, immediately producing the governor's dispatch, addressed the assembly, pointing out to them the advantages of remaining on friendly terms with the English.

“And you call that man your friend, oh, foolish Maori; he would plunge you into all the horrors of warfare, from which you can gain nothing, and are certain to suffer loss. Drive him from this pah, and let him know that you will not be deceived by his false arguments.”

See Frontispiece.

Matangee looked very angry on hearing these words, and tried to speak, but public opinion had set against him. The instant he opened his mouth, loud cries arose, and he at last, losing his temper, turned round and rushed from the pah, vowing that he would be revenged.

“Let him go,” cried some of the leading men. “He may fume and rage, as our dogs can bark, but they dare not bite if they see a man with a stick in his hand.”

Toi Korro, however, seemed very much annoyed at what had happened. He said that he knew Matangee very well, and that he feared harm might come of it. It was quite late the next day when the major and his party, with Toi Korro still as their guide, arrived near Holmwood. As they approached the farm, they met Peter running towards them. He was in a state of great agitation.

“What's the matter?” asked the major, seeing that something was wrong. “Is your mistress or Miss Emily ill, or the other children?”

“Oh, worse than that, sir; very much worse, sir,” answered Peter, wringing his hands. “Miss Emily, sir, and Jane, sir, went out to milk the cows which had got away, where we don't know, and they must have gone on and on, and have never come back again; and there's mistress in such a way, she says that the natives have taken them off. I don't know why she thinks so, but she's sure that they wouldn't have gone away by themselves. She is almost dead with fear, and it's all that Mrs. Perkins can do to keep her alive.”

As the major could get no more clear account from Peter of what happened, he hurried on to the house to see Mrs. Parry. He found her not quite so overcome with terror as Peter had described, but still very much alarmed at the absence of her daughter and Jane, and utterly unable to account for their prolonged absence.

“We will hope for the best, and that they have merely lost their way, dear wife,” answered the major, endeavouring to comfort Mrs. Parry. “However, no time is to be lost, and we will immediately go in chase. Let us have a supply of damper and cold meat, as we may be some time absent. The boys must remain to take charge of you and the house, and Peter will go in their place.”

All the arrangements were quickly made, and without stopping to eat, but putting their suppers in their pockets, they set off in search of the missing girls.

Toi Korro had not yet given his opinion as to whether they had simply lost their way, or had been carried off by the natives. “We will see soon, we will see soon,” was all he would say. First, they had to look for the traces of the cows. These were soon found; the animals had gone a little way beyond their usual bounds, so Peter said, but not much, and appeared to have been there for some time, feeding quietly. Toi Korro was examining the ground on every side. A frown gathered on his brow, and he shook his head. “Yes, Maori have been here, and drove away the cows,” he said, pointing in the direction in which he knew that they had gone. He now walked on quickly, examining the trees and bushes on every side. Major Parry anxiously inquired whether he thought that the two girls had fallen into the hands of the Maories. Toi Korro's reply was to the effect that the natives had found the cows, and driven them away, and that the girls not knowing this, but tracing them, had followed in the hopes of overtaking the supposed runaways. More, as yet he could not say. On they therefore went, as fast as they could move, every moment hoping to have the mystery discovered. Again Toi Korro stopped. He looked about carefully.

“Yes, I see. Here they first found the Maories driving away the cattle,” he exclaimed. “They turned and ran towards home, but fleet as were their feet, their pursuers were fleeter. They were soon overtaken. Now, like brave girls, they stood to face their enemies. They talked with them, but to no effect, and once more they attempted to escape. They were again overtaken, and carried away, struggling to escape.” It would be difficult to describe the feelings of the major, on hearing of the way his daughter had been treated. Peter was equally agitated, for the sake of Jane. They naturally were eager to hurry off in pursuit, but caution was necessary. The natives who had dared to commit so great an outrage would not hesitate about attacking and killing them, if taken at a vantage. Toi Korro said that there would be no difficulty in tracing them and finding out who they were. He had his suspicions on that subject, but he would not state his opinion just yet. Not much time was lost in consultations. They pushed on as long as there was daylight, and then Toi Korro said that he could no longer see the tracks, and that they must camp. He objected to having a fire lighted, lest any enemies prowling about might come suddenly on them; they had, therefore, to eat their provisions cold, while they spoke scarcely above a whisper. Under these circumstances it was difficult to keep up their spirits.

It was late before any of the party slept. Two at a time kept watch over the sleepers, going round and round, and stopping at certain spots agreed on; so that it would have been very difficult for an enemy to have taken them unawares. Thus the night passed slowly away. At the first streaks of dawn they were on foot. Breakfast did not take them long to despatch, and by the time their knapsacks were strapped again to their backs, there was light enough for Toi Korro to trace the tracks of the animals and the people who were driving them off.

Some time after this, the chief stopped and said, “I now know who were the robbers. Yonder pathway leads to Moodewhy's pah, and now I know that Matangee, his son, is the robber.”

“Then do you think that my daughter and her companion have been carried there?” asked the major.

“I have no doubt they have, and that they are now within the pah, so that there is no use in our following them farther,” answered Toi Korro; at least so the major understood him, for of course what he said was a mixture of English and Maori, helped out by signs.

“Oh no, no! my dear boys. Do not on any account hurt the people,” answered Mrs. Parry. “Remember, ‘whoso sheddeth man's blood by man shall his blood be shed.’ They may be friends, or if enemies, they are more likely to be won over by gentleness and kindness. We must remember that they are savages, and that if even they are disposed to quarrel and fight, we, as Christians, should show them the holiness of our religion, and not resort to force till all milder measures have failed.”

“All right, mother; we will not fire if it can possibly be helped,” answered Harry, as he and David took their rifles and ran back to the spot where they had left Freddy on the look out. He declared that he saw a whole army of Maories advancing towards the farm. David climbed up a tree that he might get a better view. He said that he could only see two people, and when Harry mounted up a little way, he declared that, after all, he believed that they were only two women, and that from the appearance of one of them he should not be surprised if she was Yeda. So sure was he at last, that they all ran forward to meet her, hoping that she had brought them tidings of Emily and Jane. She seemed well pleased to see them, but her countenance changed as did that of her companion when they told her of what had occurred.

“That is just like Matangee,” said Yeda. “He was coming here with a number of fighting men to attack the house, so he boasted; but finding two weak girls and some cows, he was satisfied with carrying them off, and avoiding any risk to himself.” This was said partly in English, so that the boys as well as her companion quite understood it.

“Yes, it is true,” answered Madu. “If he were a Christian, he would, I am sure, have been very different, but he would never listen to what the missionaries said to him; and now I fear that he is going to fight with the English, and will do many bad things and lose his life.”

Harry and his brothers invited the two native girls to come in and rest and take some food. They were unwilling to delay, yet they agreed to go to the house for a short time to see Mrs. Parry. Yeda told her that Madu, having heard of her brother's intention of attacking the farm, she had hurried to her that she might give them warning. They believed that Matangee meeting with the two girls had thought it safer to carry them and the cows off. They now proposed hurrying to Moodewhy's pah, hoping by the short path they would take over the hills to arrive there before Matangee. As soon therefore as they had taken a little food they set out. Harry and David were very anxious to go with them, but Yeda told them that the risk would be too great, and hinted that they would not be able to keep up with them. The boys were inclined to be indignant at this, declaring to each other that they could run as fast as any Maori girls in the three islands. Mrs. Parry and Nurse Perkins thanked the girls again and again for their zeal, and prayed that they might be protected in their somewhat perilous expedition.