In the morning I was able to do him a little job in return for his hospitality. He had to give delivery of some thousand sheep to a settler, and his one reliable man to make the count for him was ill, so I volunteered to do my best. The sheep came out with a run through a narrow gate in the yard, and, after the manner of sheep, hesitating, rushing, jumping over each other, whilst on one side I stood, with a smooth stick and a knife, ready to make one notch for every ten, and two for every hundred, as they passed me. Opposite me the purchaser's shepherd did the same. Both our tally sticks were found to correspond, to my no small satisfaction.
The Canterbury Plains here come to an end, and for the next fifty miles there are rolling downs, very well grassed, with a few patches of forest here and there in the valleys, and on the slopes of the distant hills. I rode towards the sea-coast, not liking to lose my way inland, and coming on a bay, enclosed by low cliffs, found a solitary hut, occupied by an old whaler and his wife, who gave me dinner, and directed me to ride along the beach, so as to avoid swamps and broken country, which fringe the downs near the sea. The bay, which is a pretty bit of coast scenery, has a Maori name, Te Maru, "the place of shelter," well named, as it was used by whalers as a landing place where they could try out their oil. Sam Williams showed me some of their trypots still remaining on the beach, and I spent a pleasant hour with him, listening to his yarns of old days. Here also I met an Australian on horseback, who was exploring the country, who said, "Some day I am sure this will be the site of a harbour, for what I have seen of the country here convinces me that it will carry a large
