the long sweep of tussock over billowed downs, and the awful purity of the snow-ranges, and the evil derision of the keas, and the gay recklessness of the gallopping winds. All this is in the blood of a Colonial. But an outsider cannot tabulate it when he comes to the handling of the man.
The fire fell, and out along the street noises lessened and died. And yet Pipi held the men while the stillness ran prickly on each spine, and stared, horror-wide, in Roddy’s eyes. Lou laughed, drawing a great double-chord from the keys.
“You’re an immoral old devil, Pipi,” he said. “And Roddy will have a fit very shortly if you feed him any more of that stuff.”
“He aha———” began Pipi, clutching a dirty claw on Roddy’s collar.
Murray slung the boy aside.
“Don’t you play up with him, you old heathen,” he said. “The kid has never done you any harm. I’m your meat if you want to sharpen your teeth.”
The easy defiance of the man showed in the back-swing of his shoulders, and the smile on his lips. But every nerve in him was awake.
Pipi’s hands went out in quick gesture. Then he turned.
“For you—apopo,” he said. “E noho ra.”
“Haere ra,” said Murray cheerfully, and went up the passage, drawn by the click of bil-
