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watched them run towards home, beside the dancing river.

9
Edwin’s Arrival
    A ll that week the Maori children made a big thing out of dodging Tuhoto. Those who got past him without being seen told their stories with enough exaggeration to make out they’d scored a victory. As the days went by and nothing much happened, they grew bolder. On Saturday they went to play near his whare at the deserted flour-mill, Mattie and Lillian and Kanea among them. They made up some daring plans about what they’d do if he came out. But he wasn’t seen all that day; and although this spoiled the game, it seemed to make their victory complete. If Tuhoto was hiding away it was because the disaster he predicted hadn’t taken place, and nothing terrible was going to happen.
    And among the Pakehas at the hotels and the two stores and the school, nobody owned up to believing it in the first place.
    On Sunday morning it rained. Mattie helped Mr Hensley carry her mother downstairs and make her comfortable on the drawing-room sofa. With Lillian for a fourth they were playing ludo when Mr Hensley glanced through the window and exclaimed, ‘Hullo! Who’s this coming? He’s dripping like a waterfall.’
    A slender, straight-backed young man was leading his horse to the stables—and a fine-looking horse it was. His saddle, saddle-bags and oilskins were smart and new. Mr McRae’s black-and-tan dog Lollop had already spotted a sporting rifle in its case, and was dancing a welcome.
    ‘A traveller,’ said Lillian. ‘I’ve never seen him before.’
    ‘Some fresh company will be welcome,’ said Mrs Hensley.
    She had won the ludo from Lillian in a fast finish before the new guest was dried out, warmed and changed. He came into the drawing room with Mr McRae, followed by the young maid Nora and the tea-trolley fragrant with hot scones.
    ‘Good morning, ladies; your servant, Mr Hensley,’ he said with a courteous bow. Ladies! Mattie and Lillian winked at one another. ‘Let me introduce myself. Edwin Bainbridge at your service, from Newcastle upon Tyne, and lately from Auckland. I’ve come to Te Wairoa for two reasons. The first of course is the fame of the Pink and White Terraces. The second is the fame of our landlord here, and that’s why I’ve chosen the licensed hotel, although I’m a temperance man.’
    Lillian looked up in surprise at the familiar figure of Joe McRae, his back as straight as the other’s but his frame more solid, and his blue eyes giving nothing away at this unexpected tribute.
    ‘To what do I owe this claim to fame?’ said Mr McRae.
    ‘Come now sir, don’t be modest. You’re a crack shot and you have won prizes in shooting contests, isn’t that so?’
    ‘Aye, that’s true enough. You’re expecting some fine shooting from me, is that your purpose?’
    ‘I noticed your Gordon setter as I came in. Those are first-rate gun dogs. You must know the best places for game.’
    ‘Well,’ said the landlord, drawing out the word as if pondering, ‘you’ll be seeking something larger than pheasants, and there’s no grouse or partridges here. Now up in those hills yonder’—he looked upwards through the misty windows—‘there’s a terrible taniwha that makes havoc with the Maori pigs. For all my experience in these matters I cannot catch more than the sight of his tail. Would an expedition up that way be of interest to you?’
    ‘Excellent, Mr McRae. What did you say the creature was?’
    ‘A taniwha.’
    ‘Has it an English name? Could you describe it to me?’
    Up till now, the four listeners had managed to keepstraight faces like the story-teller; but their solemn expressions made the leg-pull all the funnier and Lillian couldn’t hold herself any longer. ‘It’s—a—water monster,’ she spluttered.
    ‘A water monster? In the hills? Is there another lake up there?’ asked Mr Bainbridge seriously.
    The whole audience collapsed. ‘Ah, Lillian, you’ve shot me down,’ said Mr McRae with a