keeping out the sun when he was too searching, and very comfortable when he took one of his frequent sulky fits into his head. So I declined to change, though I slipped off my little coat and wore only a thin muslin blouse under my dust-coat.
The coach was ready, waiting for us, when we arrived at Motupiko, with five almost, if not quite thoroughbred horses to the team. We had engaged the three box seats, and mine was the one next to the driver who was also the proprietor of the coach, Mr. Harry Newman. I could not resist remarking on the horses, and then he told me that they were of his own breeding, from his farm near Nelson. He aims at perfection of stock, and judging by those we saw during our three days on his coaches, he has every excuse for being proud of his equine army.
We began the journey by crossing a very ricketty wooden bridge over a wide but shallow river, shallow then, but according to Mr Newman, a very formidable volume of water when the snows are melting on the hills in spring-time. And then for a few miles we tooled merrily along a good road bordered by hawthorn hedges twelve to fifteen feet high, until we came to a little hostelry where we stopped for luncheon. But as we had not yet grown an appetite for irregular meals, and did not feel inclined either for cold chicken and ham or hot mutton with green peas and potatoes, and the inevitable tea, at 11.30 a.m., we ordered some sandwiches for consumption later on, in order that the landlady’s feelings would not be hurt, and walked about for exercise instead of going in.
Only half an hour was allowed for luncheon, so that we were soon off again, and presently the road began to climb. So far we had passed very few homesteads; we seemed to have left the region of villages and neighbouring farms behind us, with the railway.
The hills were like chains, interlaced one behind the other, and all were covered with bush, but alas, grey clouds hid the higher ones, besides shutting out the view that Newman declared to be “the finest in New Zealand on a clear day.” We could quite believe it, too, from the fleeting glimpses we had had, and felt really injured at losing it. And quite suddenly we found ourselves literally in the clouds, hills, road, and coach all wrapped in a Scotch mist, while the heat of the early morning was like a dream that is past.
Newman pulled up, and asked the men on the coach If they would mind walking to save the horses, as we had come to a very steep hill, and Captain Greendays seized the opportunity to haul our hold-all out of the coach and find mackintoshes and rugs. Off came our dust-coats, Mrs Greendays lamenting the thinness of her tussore, as she had a little earlier derided my serge; I hurried my little Russian coat on again, she an extra overcoat of her husband’s, under our new mackintoshes, and with rugs well-tucked in round us, over our knees, we followed on the coach the men’s slow progress up the steep road.
It seemed a long while before we reached the highest point; it was impossible to distinguish the pedestrians in the thick mist that hemmed us in, and perhaps
