Station Amusements | Page 8

was never able to discover. When startled or hunted, the weka
glides, for it can scarcely be called running, with incredible swiftness
and in perfect silence, to the nearest cover. A tussock, a clump of flax,
a tuft of tall tohi grass, all serve as hiding-places; and, wingless as she
is, the weka can hold her own very well against her enemies, the dogs. I
really believe the great desire of Brisk's life was to catch a weka. He
started many, but used to go sniffing and barking round the flax bush
where it had taken refuge at first, long after the clever, cunning bird had
glided from its shelter to another cover further off.
After dinner was over and Domville had brought back the tin plates and
pannikins from the creek where he had washed them up, pipes were
lighted, and a few minutes smoking served to rest and refresh the men,
who had been working since their six o'clock breakfast. The daylight
hours were too precious however to be wasted in smoking. Trew and
Domville would not have had that comfortable nest-egg standing in
their name at the bank in Christchurch, if they had spent much time
over their pipes; so after a very short "spell" they got up from the fallen
log of wood which had served them for a bench, and suggested that F---
should accompany them back to where their work lay. "You don't mind
being left?" asked F---. "Certainly not," replied I. "I have got the dogs
for company, and a book in my pocket. I daresay I shall not read much,
however, for it is so beautiful to sit here and watch the changing lights
and shadows."
And so it was, most beautiful and thoroughly delightful. I sat on the
short sweet grass, which springs upon the rich loam of fallen leaves the
moment sunlight is admitted into the heart of a bush. No one plants it;
probably the birds carry the seeds; yet it grows freely after a clearing
has been made. Nature lays down a green sward directly on the rich

virgin mould, and sets to work besides to cover up the unsightly stems
and holes of the fallen timber with luxuriant tufts of a species of
hart's-tongue fern, which grows almost as freely as an orchid on
decayed timber. I was so still and silent that innumerable forest birds
came about me. A wood pigeon alighted on a branch close by, and sat
preening her radiant plumage in a bath of golden sunlight. The
profound stillness was stirred now and then by a soft sighing breeze
which passed over the tree tops, and made the delicate foliage of the
undergrowth around me quiver and rustle. I had purposely scattered the
remains of our meal in a spot where the birds could see the crumbs, and
it was not long before the clever little creatures availed themselves of
the unexpected feast. So perfectly tame and friendly were they, that I
felt as if I were the intruder, and bound by all the laws of aerial chivalry
to keep the peace. But this was no easy matter where Rose and Nettle
were concerned, for when an imprudent weka appeared on the sylvan
scene, looking around-as if to say, "Who's afraid?" it was more than I
could do to keep the little terriers from giving chase. Brisk, too,
blundered after them, but I had no fear of his destroying the charm of
the day by taking even a weka's life.
Thus the delicious afternoon wore on, until it was time to boil the kettle
once more, and make a cup of tea before setting out homewards. The
lengthening shadows added fresh tenderness and beauty to the peaceful
scene, and the sky began to paint itself in its exquisite sunset hues. It
has been usual to praise the tints of tropic skies when the day is
declining; but never, in any of my wanderings to East and West Indies,
have I seen such gorgeous evening colours as those which glorify New
Zealand skies.
A loud coo-ee summoned F--- to tea, and directly afterwards the horses
were re-saddled, the now empty flax basket filled with the obnoxious
teapot and cup, wrapped in many layers of flax leaves, to prevent their
rattling, and we bade good night to the tired bushmen. We left them at
their tea, and I was much struck to observe that though they looked like
men who had done a hard day's work, there was none of the exhaustion
we often see in England depicted on the labouring man's face. Instead
of a hot crowded room, these bushmen were going to sleep in their log
hut, where the fresh pure air could circulate through every nook and
cranny. They had each their pair