able to speak some English, and in Maori fashion full of quaint metaphor, and shrewd criticism of the "Pakeha," i.e. the white man, and his ways. "Horomona, you know Pihopa Herewini?" i.e. Bishop Selwyn. "Yes, me know him, travel with him long way in North Island, walking, same as now." Well, what you think of Pihopa Harper? He like Pihopa Herewini?" He paused, then plucked a long bit of tussock grass, bent it up and down zig-zag fashion; "You see this? road in North Island all same as this, all same our road here; Pihopa Herewini, he say in morning, when we start, 'Horomona, come on! He walk off so, arms like this, fast, fast! then two hours, put hand to face, sit down, get up, go on, sit down again. Pihopa Harper, he say in morning, 'Now, Horomona, we will come on.' He go on, go on,—so,—no fast,—so, so, all day, no sit down." This was a Maori estimate of the temperament of the two men.
As we neared the Pah, which in Maori tongue is "Kaituna," the place where "Eels are good for food," it was late evening, and the Maori women, as their wont is, came out to welcome the Bishop, waving their hands, squatting down, rising, coming forward a few yards, squatting again, rising, and crying out, "Haeremai, Haeremai," welcome, welcome! and so gradually approached us, then turning to guide us to their village. Their houses here are built of stalks and flax sticks, bound together with vines, lined inside with toi reeds, dyed in patterns of black and white and red; the walls very low, and the entrance door so low that the Archdeacon declared he could never crawl in through it.
Before entering we went to the bank of the stream
