Station Amusements in New Zealand Part 7

Oh, how dimmed its dainty freshness had become since even yesterday!

Sarah was summoned, and confessed that she had known last night that "Hisabella" had gone on the "burst," having bought, for some fabulous sum, a bottle of rum from a pa.s.sing swagger. It was all very dreadful, and worst of all was the scene of tears and penitence I had to endure when the rum was finished. The dray, however, relieved me of the incubus of her presence; and that was the only instance of drunkenness I came across among my domestic changes and chances.

Chapter XIV: Our pets.

One of the first things which struck me when I came to know a little more about the feelings and ways of my neighbours in the Malvern Hills, was the good understanding which existed between man and beast. I am afraid I must except the poor sheep, for I never heard them spoken of with affection, nor do I consider that they were the objects of any special humanity even on their owners' parts. This must surely arise from their enormous numbers. "How can you be fond of thousands of anything?" said a shepherd once to me, in answer to some sentimental inquiry of mine respecting his feelings towards his flock. That is the fact. There were too many sheep in our "happy Arcadia" for any body to value or pet them. On a large scale they were looked after carefully.

Water, and sheltered feed, and undisturbed camping grounds, all these good things were provided for them, and in return they were expected to yield a large percentage of lambs and a good "clip." Even the touching patience of the poor animals beneath the shears, or amid the dust and noise of the yards, was generally despised as stupidity.

Far different is the feeling of the New Zealander, whether he be squatter or c.o.c.katoo, towards his horse and his dog. They are the faithful friends, and often the only companions of the lonely man. Of course there will soon be no "lonely men" anywhere, but a few years ago there were plenty of unwilling Robinson Crusoes in the Middle Island; and whenever I came upon one of these pastoral hermits, I was sure to find a dog or a horse, a cat, or even a hen, established as "mate" to some poor solitary, from whom all human companionship was shut out by mountain, rock, or river.

"Are you not _very_ lonely here?" was often my first instinctive question, as I have dismounted at the door of a shepherd's hut in the back country, and listened to the eternal roar of the river which formed his boundary, or the still more oppressive silence which seemed to have reigned ever since the creation.

"Well, mum, it aint very lively; but I've got Topsy (producing a black kitten from his pocket), and there's the dogs, and I shall have some fowls next year, p'raps."

But my object in beginning this chapter was not to enter into a disquisition on other people's pets, with which after all one can have but a distant acquaintance, but to introduce some of my own especial favourites to those kind and sympathetic readers who take pleasure in hearing of my own somewhat solitary existence in that distant land. I am quite ready to acknowledge that I never thoroughly comprehended the individuality of animals, even of fowls and ducks, until I lived up at the Station. Perhaps, like their masters, they really get to possess more independence of character under those free and easy skies; for where would you meet with such a worldly and selfish cat as "Sandy," or so fastidious and intelligent a smooth terrier as "Rose"? Sandy was an old bachelor of a sleek appearance, red in colour, but with a good deal of white shirt-front and wristbands, as to the get-up of which he was most particular. It was easy to imagine Sandy sitting in a club window; and I am _sure_ he had a slight tendency to gout and reading French novels. Sandy's selfishness was quite open and above-board. He liked you very much until somebody else came whom he liked better, and then he would desert his oldest friend without hesitation. I don't suppose the wildest young colley-pup ever dreamed of chasing or worrying Sandy, who would not have stirred from his warm corner by the fire for Snarleyow himself. Every now and then Sandy must have felt alarmed about his health or his figure, for he ate less, and walked gravely and sulkily up and down the verandah for hours, but as soon as he considered himself out of danger, he relapsed into all his self-indulgent ways. No one ventured to offer Sandy anything but the choicest meats, and he was wont to sit up and beg like a dog for a savoury t.i.t-bit. But he would revenge himself on you afterwards for the humiliation, you might be sure.

What always appeared to me so odd, was that in spite of his known and unblushing selfishness, Sandy used to be a great favourite, and we all vied with each other for the honour of his notice. Now why was this? If boundless time and s.p.a.ce were at our disposal, we might go deeply into the question and work it out, but as the dimensions of this volume are not elastic, the impending social essay shall be postponed, and we will confine ourselves to a brief description of Sandy's outer cat. He was of a pure breed, far removed from the long-legged, lanky race of ordinary station-cats, who from time to time disappeared into the bush and contracted alliances with the still more degraded specimens of their cla.s.s who had long been wild among the scrub. No: Sandy came of "pur sang," and held his small square head erect, with a haughty carriage as beseemed his ancestry. His fur was really beautiful, a sort of tortoisesh.e.l.l red, the lighter stripes repeating exactly the different golden tints of a fashionable chignon. In early youth, though it is difficult to imagine Sandy ever a playful kitten, his tail had been curtailed to the length of three inches, and this short, flexible stump gave an air of great decision to Sandy's movements. But his chief peculiarity, and I must add, attraction, in my opinion, was the perfume of his sleek coat. When Sandy condescended to take his evening doze on my linsey lap, I never smelt anything so strange and so agreeable as the odour of his fur, specially that on the top of his head. It was like the most delicate musk, but without any of the sickly smell common to that scent. I believe Sandy knew of this personal peculiarity, and felt proud of it.

A far more unselfish and agreeable personage was Rose, the white terrier, whose name often finds a loving place in these pages. She and Sandy dwelt together in peace and amity, although the little doggie never could have felt any affection for her selfish companion. Rose's nerves were of a delicate and high-strung order, and there was nothing she hated so much as uproarious noise. Every now and then it chanced that during a few days of wet or windy weather, our little house had been filled by pa.s.sing guests: gentlemen who had called in to ask for supper and a bed, intending to go on next day. In a country where inns or accommodation-houses are fifty miles apart, this is a common incident, and it sometimes happens that the resources of station hospitality are taxed to the utmost in this way. I have known our own little wooden box to be so closely packed, that besides a guest on each sofa in the drawing-room, there would be another on a sort of portable couch in the dining-room. This was after the spare room had been filled to the utmost. A delicate "new chum," who required to be pampered, had retired to rest on the hard kitchen sofa described elsewhere; whilst a couple of st.u.r.dy travellers were sleeping soundly in the saddle room. After that, there could be nothing for the last comer except a shake-down in red blankets.

It _always_ happened I observed that everybody arrived together. For weeks we would be alone. I lived once for eight months without seeing a lady; and then, some fine evening, half a dozen acquaintances would "turn up,"--there really is no other word for it. Well, on these occasions, when, instead of departing next morning, our impromptu guests have sometimes been forced to wait until such time as the rain or the wind should cease; their pent-up animal spirits became often too much for them, and they would feel an irresistible impulse to get rid of some of their superfluous health and strength by violent exercise. I set my face at once against "athletic sports" or "feats of strength" being performed in my little drawing-room, although they were always very anxious to secure me for the solitary spectator; and I forget who hit upon the happy thought of turning the empty wool-shed into a temporary gymnasium. There these wild boys--for, in spite of stalwart frames and bushy beards, the Southern Colonist's heart keeps very fresh and young--used to adjourn, and hop and leap, wrestle and box, fence and spar, to their active young limbs' content. They seemed very happy, and loud were the joyous shouts and peals of laughter over the failures; but after seeing the performance once or twice, I generally became tired and bored, and used to slip away to the house and my quiet corner by the fire. Rose considered it her duty to remain at her master's heels as long as possible, but after a time she too would creep back to silence and warmth, though she never deserted her post until the noise grew altogether too much for her nerves; and then, with a despairing whimper, sometimes swelling to a howl, poor little Rose would tuck her tail between her legs, and dash out, through the storm, to seek shelter and quiet with me.

Whenever Rose appeared thus suddenly in my quiet retreat, I felt sure some greater uproar than usual was going on down at the wool-shed, and, more than once, on inquiry, I found Rose's nerves must have been tried to the utmost before she turned and fled.

As for the intelligence of sheep-dogs, a volume could be written on the facts concerning them, and a still more entertaining book on the fictions, for a New Zealand shepherd will always consider it a point of honour to cap his neighbour's anecdote of _his_ dog's sagacity, by a yet stronger proof of canine intelligence. I shall only, briefly allude to one dog, whose history will probably be placed in the colonial archives,--a colley, who knows his master's brand; and who will, when the sheep get boxed, that is mixed together, pick out; with unfailing accuracy, all the bleating members of his own flock from amid the confused, terrified ma.s.s. As for the patience of a good dog in crossing sheep over a river, I have witnessed that myself, and been forced to draw conclusions very much in favour of the dog over the human beings who were directing the operation. Some dogs again, who are perfectly helpless with sheep, are unrivalled with cattle, and I have stood on the edge of a swamp more than once, and seen a dog go after a couple of milch cows, and fetch them out of a herd of bullocks, returning for the second "milky mother" after the first had been brought right up within reach of the stockman's lash.

Then among my horse friends was a certain Suffolk "Punch," who had been christened the "Artful Dodger," from his trick of counterfeiting lameness the moment he was put in the shafts of a dray. That is to say if the dray was loaded; so long as it was empty, or the load was light, the "Dodger" stepped out gaily, but if he found the dray at all heavy, he affected to fall dead lame. The old strain of staunch blood was too strong in his veins to allow him to refuse or jib, or stand still. Oh, no! The "Dodger" arranged a compromise with his conscience, and though he pulled manfully, he resorted to this lazy subterfuge. More than once with a "new chum" it had succeeded to perfection, and the "Dodger" found himself back again in his stable with a rack of hay before him, whilst his deluded owner or driver was running all over the place to find a subst.i.tute in the shafts. If I had not seen it myself, I could not have believed it. In order to induce the "Dodger" to act his part thoroughly, a drayman was appointed whom the horse had never seen, and therefore imagined could be easily imposed upon. The moment the signal was given to start, the "Dodger," after a glance round, which plainly said, "I wonder if I may try it upon you," took a step forward and almost fell down, so desperate was his lameness. The driver, who was well instructed in his part, ran round, and lifted up one st.u.r.dy bay leg after the other, with every appearance of the deepest concern. This encouraged the "Dodger," who uttered a groan, but still seemed determined to do his best, and limped and stumbled a yard or two further on. I confess it seemed impossible to believe the horse to be quite sound, and if it had depended on me, the "Dodger" would instantly have been unharnessed and put back in his stable. But the moment had come to unmask him. His master stepped forward, and pulling first one cunning ear, on the alert for every word, and then the other; cried, "It wont do, sir! step out directly, and don't let us have any nonsense." The "Dodger" groaned again, this time from his heart probably, shook himself, and, leaning well forward in his big collar, stepped out without a murmur. The lameness had disappeared by magic, nor was there even the slightest return of it until he saw a new driver, and considered it safe to try his oft-successful "dodge" once more.

Very different was "Star," poor, wilful, beauty, whose name and fate will long be remembered among the green hills, where her short life was pa.s.sed. Born and bred on the station, she was the pride and joy of her owner's heart. Slender without being weedy, compact without clumsiness, her small head well set on her graceful neck, and her fine legs, with their sinews like steel, she attracted the envy of all the neighbouring squatters. "What will you take for that little grey filly when she is broken?" was a constant question. "She's not for sale," her owner used to answer. "I'll break her myself, and make her as gentle as a dog, and she'll do for my wife when I get one." But this proved a castle in the air, so far as Star was concerned. The wife was not so mythical. In due time _she_ appeared in that sheltered valley, and, standing at the head of a mound marked by a stake whereon a star was rudely carved, heard the story of the poor creature's fate. From the first week of her life, Star (so-called from a black, five-pointed mark on her forehead), showed signs of possessing a strange wild nature. Unlike her sire or dam, she evidently had a violent temper,--and not to put too fine a point on it,--was as vicious a grey mare as ever flung up her heels in a New Zealand valley.

When her second birthday was pa.s.sed, Star's education commenced. The process called "gentling," was a complete misnomer for the series of buck jumps, of bites and kicks, with which the young lady received the slightest attempt to touch her. She had a horrible habit also of shrieking, really almost like a human being in a frantic rage; she would rush at you with a wild scream of fury, and after striking at you with her front hoofs, would wheel round like lightning, and dash her hind legs in your face. The stoutest stockman declined to have anything whatever to do with Star; the most experienced breaker "declined her, with thanks;" generally adding a long bill for repairs of rack and manger, and breaking tackle, and not unfrequently a hospital report of maimed and wounded stablemen. Amateur hors.e.m.e.n of celebrity arrived at the station to look at the beautiful fiend, and departed, saying they would rather not have anything to say to her. At last, she was given over in despair, to lead her own free life, never having endured the indignity of bit or bridle for more than two minutes.

Months pa.s.sed away, and Star and her tantrums had been nearly forgotten, when one mild winter evening the stockman came in to report that,--wonder of wonders,--Star was standing meekly outside, whinnying, and as "quiet as a dog." Her master went out to find the man's report exact: Star walked straight up to him, and rubbed her soft nose confidingly against his sleeve. The mystery explained itself at a glance: she was on the point of having her first foal, and, with some strange and pathetic instinct, she bethought herself of the kind hands whose caresses she had so often rejected, and came straight to them for help and succour. Her shy and touching advances were warmly responded to, and in a few minutes the poor beast was safely housed in the warm shed which then represented the present row of neat stables long since on that very spot. A warm mash was eagerly swallowed, and the good-hearted stockman volunteered to remain up until all should be happily over; but his courage failed him at the sight of her horrible sufferings, and in the early dawn he came to rouse up his master, and beg him to come and see if anything more could be done. There lay Star, all her fierce spirit quenched, with an appealing look in her large black eyes, which seemed positively human in their capacity for expressing suffering. It was many hours before a dead foal was born, and there is no doubt that if she had been out on the bleak hills, the poor exhausted young mother must have perished from weakness. She appeared to understand thoroughly the motive of all that was being done for her, and submitted with patience to all the remedies. Gradually, but slowly, her strength returned; and, alas, her evil nature, tamed by anguish, returned also! Day by day she became shyer of even the hand which had fed and succoured her; and, as this is a true chronicle, it must be stated that the very first use Mrs. Star made of her convalescence was, to kick her nurse on the leg, break her halter into fragments, and gallop off to the hills with a loud neigh of defiance. Whenever the topic of feminine ingrat.i.tude came on the carpet at that station, this, which Star had done, used always to be told as an instance in point.

Two years later, exactly the same thing happened again. The dreaded hour of suffering found the wayward beauty once more under the roof which had sheltered her in her former time of trial, and once more she rested her head in penitence and appeal against her owner's shoulder. Who could bear malice in the presence of such dreadful pain? Not Star's owner, certainly. Besides the home resources, a man on horseback was sent off to fetch a famous veterinary who chanced to be staying at a neighbouring station, and they both returned before Star's worst sufferings began.

All that skill and experience could do was done that night; but the morning light found the poor little grey mare dying from exhaustion, with another dead foal lying by her side. She only lived a few hours later, in spite of stimulants and the utmost care, and died gently and peacefully, with those human hands whose lightest touch she had so flouted, ministering tenderly to her great needs. The stockman had become so fond of the wayward beauty, in spite of her ingrat.i.tude, that the only solace he could find for his regret at her early death, lay in digging a deep grave for her, and carving the emblem of her pretty name on the rude stake which still marks the spot.

No account of station pets would be complete without a brief allusion to my numerous and unsuccessful attempts to rear merino lambs in the house.

It never was of any use advising me to leave the poor little creatures out on the bleak hill-side, if, in the course of my rambles after ferns or creepers, I came upon a dead ewe with her half-starved baby running round and round her. How could I turn my back on the little orphan, who, instead of bounding off up the steep hill, used to run confidingly up to me, and poke its black muzzle into my hand, as if it would say, "Here is a friend at last"? And then merino lambs are so much prettier than any I have seen in England. Their snow-white wool is as tightly screwed up in small curls as any Astracan fleece, and from being of so much more active a race, they are smaller and more compact than English lambs, and not so awkward and leggy. A merino lamb of a couple of hours old is far better fitted to take care of itself up a mountain than a civilized and helpless lamb of a month old, besides these latter being so weak about the knees always. I only mention this, not out of any desire to "blow"

about our sheep, but because I want to account for my tender-heartedness on the subject of desolate orphans. The ewes scarcely ever died of disease, unless by a rare chance it happened to be a very old lady whose const.i.tution gave way at last before a severe winter. We oftenest found that the dead mother was a fine fat young ewe; who had slipped up on a hill-side and could not recover herself, but had died of exhaustion and fatigue from her violent efforts to kick herself up again. If we chanced to be in time to rescue her by the simple process of setting her on her legs again, it would be all right, but sometimes the poor creature had been cold and stiff for hours before we found her, and her lamb had bleated itself hoa.r.s.e and hungry, and was as tame as a pet dog. Now _who_ could turn away from a little helpless thing like that, who positively leaped into your arms and cuddled itself up in delight, sucking vigorously away at your glove, or anything handy? Not I, for one,--though I might as well have left it alone, so far as its ultimate fate was concerned; but I always hoped for better luck next time, and carried it off in my arms.

The first thing to be do be on arrival at home, was to give the starving little creature a good meal out of a tea-pot, and the next, to put it to sleep in a box of hay in a warm corner of the kitchen. What always seemed to me so extraordinary, was that the lambs, one and all, preserved the most cheerful demeanour, ate and drank and slept well,--and yet died within a month. Some lingered until quite four weeks had pa.s.sed, others succ.u.mbed to my treatment in a week. I varied their food, mixing oatmeal with the milk; some I fed often, others seldom; to some I gave sugar in the milk, others had new milk. There was abundance of gra.s.s just outside the house for them to eat, if they could. Some did mumble feebly at it, I remember, but the mortality continued uninterrupted. It must have been very ridiculous to a visitor, to see my dear little snowy pets going down on their front knees before me, and wagging their long tails furiously the moment the tea-pot was brought out. They were far too sensible to do this if my hands were empty.

Gentle, affectionate little creatures, they used to be wonderfully well-behaved, though now and then they would wander through the verandah, and so into my bedroom, where the drapery of my dressing-table afforded them endless amus.e.m.e.nt and occupation. They gnawed and sucked all my "daisy" fringe, until the first thing that had to be done when a lamb arrived at the house, was to take off muslins and fringes from that, the only trimmed table in the house.

Often and often, of a cold night (for we must remember that New Zealand lambing used always to come off in winter), we would all become suddenly aware of a strong smell of burning pervading the whole house; which, on being traced to its source, was often found to proceed from the rosette of wool on the forehead of a chilly lamb. The creature drew nearer and nearer to the genial warmth of the kitchen fire, until at last it used to lean its brow pensively against the red hot bars. Hence arose the powerful odour gradually filling the whole of the little wooden house.

Of course I used to rush to the rescue, and draw my bewildered pet away from the fatal warmth, but not until it had usually singed the wool off down to the bone, and there was often a bad burn on its forehead as well. But still, in spite of stupidity and an insatiable appet.i.te, I always grieved very sincerely for each of my orphan lambs as it in turn sank into its early grave. I used to be well laughed at for attaching any sentiment to an animal which had sunk so disgracefully low in the money-market as a New Zealand lamb, but the abundant supply of my little pets never made it easier for me to lose the particular one which I had set my heart on rearing. It certainly did afford me some comfort to hear that merino lambs had always been difficult, if not impossible to bring up, like so many "pups," by hand; and among all the statistics I carefully collected, I could only find one well-authenticated instance of a foundling having been reared indoors. My informant tried to comfort me by tales of the tyranny that stout and tame sheep exercised over the household which had sheltered it, but I fear that the stories of its delightful impudence only made me more anxious to succeed in my own baby-farming experiments among the lambs.

Chapter XV: A feathered pet.

No record of those dear, distant days would be complete without a short memoir of "Kitty." She was only a grey Dorking hen, but no heroine in fact or fiction, no Lady Rachel Russell or _Fleurange,_ ever exceeded Kitty in unswerving devotion to a beloved object, or rather objects.

To see Kitty was to admire her, at least as I saw her one beautiful spring evening in a gra.s.sy paddock on the banks of the Horarata. We had ridden over there to visit our kind and friendly neighbours, the C----'s; we had enjoyed a delicious cup of tea in the pa.s.sion-flower-covered verandah, which looked on the whole range, from East to West, of the glorious Southern Alps, their shining white summits sharply cut against our own peculiarly beautiful sky; we had strolled round the charming, unformal garden, on either sloping side of a wide creek, and had admired, with just a tinge of envy, the fruits and flowers, the standard apple and rose trees, the tangle of fern and creepers, the wealth of the old and new worlds heaped together in floral profusion; we had done all this, I say, and very pleasant we had found it. Now we were trying to say goodbye: not so easy a task, let me tell you, when there are so many temptations to linger, and when you are greatly pressed to stay. The last device of our hospitable hostess to keep us consisted in offering to show me her poultry-yard. Now I was a young beginner in that line myself, and tormented my ducks and fowls to death by my incessant care: at least that is the conclusion I have arrived at since; but at that time, I considered it as necessary to look after them as if they had been so many children. The consequence was,--as I pathetically complained to Mrs. C----, that my hens sat furiously for a week, and then took to lingering outside, where perpetual feeding was going on, until their eggs grew cold; that my ducks neglected their offspring and allowed the rats to decimate them, and that every variety of epidemic and misfortune a.s.sailed in turns my unhappy poultry yard. Kind Mrs. C---- listened as gravely as she could, hinting _very_ gently, that perhaps I took too much trouble about them; then, fearing least she might have wounded my feelings, she hastened to suggest that I should try the introduction of a different breed.

As a preliminary step to this reformation, she offered to bestow upon me one of her best Dorking hens. It was too tempting an offer to be refused, and I forthwith bestowed my affections on a beautiful grey pullet, whose dignified carriage and speckled exterior bespoke her high lineage. "That's Kitty," said Mrs. C----. "I am so glad you fancy her; she is one of my nicest young hens. We'll catch her for you in a moment." I must pause to mention here, that it struck me as being very odd in New Zealand the way in which _every_ creature has a name, excepting always the poor sheep. If one sees a c.o.c.k strutting proudly outside a shepherd's door; you are sure to hear it is either Nelson or Wellington; every hen has a pet name, and answers to it; so have the ducks and geese,--at least, up-country; of course, dogs, horses, cows and bullocks, each rejoice in the most inflated appellations, but I don't remember ever hearing ducks and fowls answer to their names in any other country.

But this is only by the way. I gratefully and gladly accepted the transfer of the fair Kitty, and only wondered how I was to convey her to her new home, fifteen miles away. Kitty was soon caught, and carried off into the house to be packed up for her first ride. Accustomed as I am to ridiculous things happening to me, still I never felt in so absurd a position as when, having mounted "Helen," who seemed in a particularly playful mood after a good feed of oats, Kitty was handed to me neatly tied up in a pillow-case with her tufted head protruding from a hole in the seam at the side. Although very anxious to carry her home immediately, my heart died within me at the prospect of a long gallop on a skittish mare with a plump Dorking hen tied up in a bag on my lap.

There was no help for it, however, and I tried to put my bravest face on the matter. The difficulties commenced at the very point of departure, for it is not easy to say farewell cordially with your hands full of reins, whip, and poultry. But it proved comparatively easy going whilst we only cantered over the plains. It was not until the first creek had been reached, that I really perceived what lay before me. Helen distrusted the contents of the bag, and kept trying to look round and see what it contained; and her fears of something uncanny might well have been confirmed when she took off at her first flat jump. Kitty screamed, or shrieked, or whatever name best expresses her discordant and piercing yells. I more than suspect I shrieked too, partly at the difficulty of keeping both Kitty and Helen in any sort of order, and partly at my own insecurity. No sooner had Helen landed on the other side, than she fled homewards as if a tin kettle were tied to her tail.

The speed at which we dashed through the fragrant summer air completely took away Kitty's breath, and the poor creature appeared more dead than alive by the time I dismounted, trembling myself in every limb for her safety as well as my own, at the garden gate.

However, next morning brought a renewed delight in existence to both Kitty and me, and our night's sleep had made us forget our agitation and peril. After breakfast I introduced her to the poultry yard, and she adapted herself to her new home with a tact and good humour most edifying to behold. Months pa.s.sed away. Kitty had made herself a nest in a place, the selection of which did equal honour to her head and heart, and she gladdened my eyes one fine morning by appearing with a lovely brood of chicks around her. Who so proud as the young mother? She exhibited them to me, and after I had duly admired them, used to carry them off to a nursery of her own, which she had established among the tussocks just outside the stable door. Mrs. C---- had impressed upon me that Kitty could be safely trusted to manage her own affairs. No fear of her dragging her fluffy babies out among the wet gra.s.s too early in the morning, or losing them among the flax bushes on the hill-side. No: Kitty came of a race who were model mothers, and was to be left to take care of herself and her chickens.

About a week after Kitty had first shown me her large, small family, a friend of ours arrived unexpectedly to stop the night. Next morning, when he was going away, he apologised for asking leave to mount at the stables, saying his led horse was so vicious, and the one he was riding so gay, that it was quite possible their legs might find themselves within the verandah, or do some mischief to the young shrubs which were the pride and joy of my heart. This gentleman rode beautifully, and I used to like to see the courage and patience with which he always conquered the most unruly horse.

"We will come up to the stable and see you mount," I cried, seizing my hat. Of course every one followed my lead, and it was to the sound of mingled jeers and compliments that poor Mr. T---- mounted his fiery steed, and seized hold of the leading rein of his pack-horse. But this animal had no intention of taking his departure with propriety or tranquillity: he pranced and shied, flinging out his heels as he wildly danced round to every point of the compa.s.s, in a circle. Gradually he drew Mr. T---- and his chestnut a dozen yards away from the stable, and it was just then that I perceived poor Kitty sitting close under a tussock. It chanced to be the hour for the chickens' siesta, and they were all folded away beneath her ample brooding wings. Perhaps the danger had come too near to be avoided before I perceived it, but at all events my loud shriek of warning was too late to save the pretty crouching head from the flourish of the pack-horse's glancing heels.

Swift indeed was the blow; for scarcely ten seconds could have pa.s.sed between my first glimpse of poor Kitty's bright black eye looking out, with such mortal terror in its expression, from beneath the yellow tuft of gra.s.s, and my seeing the horse's heel lay her head right open. The brave little mother never dreamed of saving herself at the cost of her nestlings. She crouched as low as possible, and when the horse had jumped over her I flew to see if she had escaped. No. There lay my pretty pet, with her wings still outspread and her chickens unhurt. But she seemed dead: her head had been actually cut clean open, and I never expected that she would have lived a moment. Yet she did. I took her at once to the well hard by, and bound up her split head with my pocket handkerchief, keeping it well wetted with cold water. Later on I put forth all the surgical art I possessed, and dressed the wound in the most scientific manner, nursing poor Kitty tenderly in the kitchen, and feeding her with my own hands every two hours. She was for a long time incapable of feeding herself and; even when all danger was over, required most careful nursing. However, the end of the story is that, she recovered entirely her bodily health, but her poor little brain remained clouded for ever. She never took any more notice of her chickens, who had to be brought up by hand, and she never mixed again with the society of the poultry-yard. At night she roosted apart in the coalshed, and she never seemed to hear my voice or distinguish me from others, though she was perfectly tame to everybody. Kitty's end was very tragical. She grew exceedingly fat, and at last, one time when we were all snowed up and could not afford to be sentimental, my cook laid hold of poor Kitty, who was moping in her usual corner, and converted her into a savoury stew without telling me, until I had actually dined off her. I was very angry; but Eliza only repeated by way of consolation, "She had no wits, only flesh, consequently she was better in my stew-pot nor anywhere else, mum, if you'll only look at it calm like." But it was very hard to be made to eat one's patient, especially when I was so proud of the way her poor head had healed.

If anybody wanted to teaze me, they suggested that I had omitted to replace my dear Kitty's brains before closing that cruel wound in her skull.

Chapter XVI: Doctoring without a diploma.

So many reminiscences come crowding into my mind,--some grave and others gay,--as I sit down to write these final chapters, that I hardly know where to begin.

The most clamorous of the fast-thronging memories, the one which pushes its way most vividly to the front, is of a little amateur doctoring of mine; and as my patient luckily did not die of my remedies, I need not fear that I shall be asked for my diploma.

Shearing was just over; over only that very evening in fact. We had been leading a sort of uncomfortable picnic life at the home station for more than ten days, and had returned to our own pretty little home up the valley, late on Sat.u.r.day night, in time for the supper-dinner I have so often described. It was my doing, that fortnight's picnic at the home station, and I may as well candidly confess it was a mistake; although, made, like most mistakes in life, with good intentions. Our partner had gone to England, our manager had just left us to set up sheep-farming on his own account, and all the responsibility of shearing a good many thousand sheep devolved on F----. And not only the shearing; the flock had to be carefully draughted, the ewes, wethers, and hoggets, to be branded, ear-marked, and turned out on their several ranges; the wethers for home consumption, which consisted of a good-sized flock of many hundred sheep, turned into the home-paddock,--an enclosure of some five or six hundred acres,--and various other minute details to be seen to; the wool to be sent down to Christchurch, and the stores brought up by the return drays.

My motives for the plan I formed for us to go over, bag and baggage, to the home station, the evening before the shearing began, and live there till it was over, were varied. We will put the most unselfish first, for the sake of appearances. I knew it would be very hard work for poor F---- all that time, and I thought it would add to his fatigue if he had to go backwards and forwards to his own house every day, getting up at five in the morning and returning late at night, besides having no comfortable meals. The next motive was that I wanted very much to see the whole process of shearing, and all the rest of it, myself; and as it turned out, though I little dreamed of it at the time, this proved to be my only chance. Every body tried to dissuade me from carrying out the scheme, by urging that I should be very uncomfortable; but I did not care in the least for that, and insisted on being allowed at all events to see how I liked it.

Accordingly one evening we set forth: such a ridiculous cavalcade. I would not hear of riding, for it was only a short two miles walk; and as we did not start until after our last meal, the sun had dipped behind Flag-pole's tall peak, and nearly the whole of our happy valley lay in deep, cool shadow. Besides which, it looked more like the real thing to walk, and that was half the battle with me. The "real thing" in this case, though I did not stop to explain it to myself, must have meant emigrants, Mormons, soldiers on the march, what you will; any thing which expresses all one's belongings being packed into a little cart, with a huge tin bath secured on the top of all. Such a miscellaneous a.s.sortment of dry goods as that cart held! A couple of mattresses (for my courage failed me at the idea of sleeping on chopped tussocks for a fortnight), a couple of folding-up arm-chairs, though, as it turned out, one would have been enough, for poor F---- never sat down from the time he got up until he went to bed again; a large hamper of provisions, some books, our clothes, and various little matters which were indispensable if one had to live in an empty house for a fortnight. I had sent my two maids over one morning a few days before, with pails and mops and brushes, and they had given the couple of rooms which we were to inhabit, a thorough good cleaning and scouring, so my mind was easy on that point. It would not have answered, for many reasons, to have enc.u.mbered ourselves with these damsels during our stay at the home station. In the first place, there was really no accommodation for them; in the next, it would have entailed more luggage than the little cart could hold; and, finally, we should have been obliged to leave them behind at the last moment: for only the evening before we started, a couple of friends arrived, in true New Zealand fashion, from Christchurch, to pay us a month's visit. It was too late to alter our plans then, so we told them to, make themselves thoroughly at home, and took our departure next day in the way I have alluded to.

We had plenty of escort as far as the first swamp. When that treacherous and well-known spot had been reached, everybody suddenly remembered that they had forgotten something or the other which obliged them to return directly, so our farewells had to be exchanged from the centre of a flax bush. The cart meanwhile was nearly out of sight, so wide a _detour_ had its driver been forced to make in order to find a place sound enough to bear its weight. But we caught it up again after we had happily crossed the quagmire which used always to be my bug-bear, and in due time we made our appearance, in the gloaming, at the tiny house belonging to the home station. Early as was the hour, not later than half-past eight, the place lay silent and still under the balmy summer haze. All the shearers were fast asleep in the men's hut, whilst every available nook and corner was filled with the spare hands; the musterers, branders, yard-keepers, and many others, whose duties were less-defined. Far down the flat we could dimly discern a white patch,--the fleecy outlines of the large mob destined to fill the skillions at day-break to-morrow morning; and, although we could not see them distinctly, close by, watchful and vigilant all through that and many subsequent summer nights, Pepper and his two beautiful colleys kept watch and ward over the sheep.

Writing in the heavy atmosphere of this vast London world, I look back upon that, and such evenings as that, with a desperate craving to breathe once more he delicious air unsoiled by human lungs, and stirred into fresh fragrance by every summer sigh of those distant New Zealand valleys. No wonder people were always well in such a pure, clear, light atmosphere. I try to feel again in fancy the exquisite enjoyment of merely drawing a deep breath, the thrilling sensation of health and strength it sent tingling down to your finger ends. No fleck or film of vapour or miasma could be seen or smelt, though the day had been burning hot, and, as I have said, there were plenty of creeks and swamps hard by. Damp is unknown in those valleys, and we might have lingered bareheaded even after the heavy dew began to fall, without risk of cold, or fever, or any other ailment. But we could not afford to linger a moment out of doors that lovely tempting evening. F---- and the driver of the cart, who had some important part to take in the morrow's proceedings (I forget exactly what), soon tossed out my little stores, which looked very insignificant as they lay in a heap in the verandah, and departed to see that all was in train for next day's work. I had no time to enjoy the evening's soft beauty: the beds had to be made; clothes to be unpacked and hung up; stores must be arranged on the shelves in the sitting-room,--for the house only consisted of two small rooms in front, with a wide verandah, and a sort of lean-to at the back, which was divided into a small kitchen and store-room. This last was empty. I confess I thought rather regretfully of my pretty, comfortable, English-looking bed-room at the other house, with its curtains and carpet, its wardrobes and looking-gla.s.ses, when I found myself surveying the scene of my completed labours. Two station _bunks_,--i.e., wooden bed-frames of the simplest and rudest construction, with a sacking bottom,--a couple of empty boxes, one for a dressing-table and the other for a wash-stand, a tin basin and a bucket of water, being the paraphernalia of the latter, whilst some nails behind the door served to hang our clothes on, such was my station bedroom and all my own doing too! Certainly it looked uncomfortable enough to satisfy any one, but I would not have complained of it for the world, lest I might have been ordered home directly.

Hard as was my bed that night, I slept soundly, and it appeared only five minutes before I heard a tremendous noise outside the verandah.

The bleating of hundreds of sheep announced that the mob were slowly advancing, before a perfect army of men and dogs, up to the sheep yards.

What a din they all made! F---- was wide awake, and up in a moment. I, anxious to show _why_ I had insisted on coming over, got up too, and made my way into the little kitchen, where I found a charming surprise awaiting me in the shape of some f.a.ggots of neatly-stacked wood, cut into exactly, the right lengths for the American stove; and also a heap of dry Menuka bushes, which make the best touchwood for lighting fires in the whole world. The tiny kitchen and stove were both scrupulously clean, and so were my three saucepans and kettle. This had been, of course, my maids' doing, but the fuel was a delicate little attention on Pepper's part. How he blushed and grinned with delight when I thanked him before all his mates! This was indeed station-life made easy! It did not take two minutes to light my fire, and in five more I had a delicious cup of tea and some bread-and-b.u.t.ter all ready for F----. It was nearly cold, however, by the time I could catch him and make him drink it. Of course, being a man, instead of saying, "Thank you," or anything of that sort, he merely remarked, "What nonsense!" but equally of course, he was very glad to get it, and ate and drank it all up, returning instantly to his shed.

After this little episode, I set to work to unpack a little, and make the sitting-room look the least bit more home-like; then I laid the cloth for breakfast, put out the pie and potted meat, etc. (no words can say how heartily tired of pies we both were before the week was over), and arranged everything for breakfast. Then I waylaid one of the numerous stray "hands" which hang about a station at shearing time, and got him to fetch me a couple of buckets of water as far as the verandah.

These I conveyed myself into the little sleeping-room, and finished my toilette at my leisure: tidying it all up afterwards. I wonder if any one has any idea what hot work it is making a bed? So hot, in fact, that I resolved in future to be wise enough to finish all these domestic occupations before I had my bath. The worst of getting up so early proved to be that by nine o'clock I was very tired, and had nothing else to do for the remainder of the long, noisy day. As for the meals, they were wretchedly unsociable; for F---- only came in to s.n.a.t.c.h a mouthful or two, standing, and it was of little use trying to make things comfortable for him. I must confess here, what I would not acknowledge at the time, that I found it a very long and dull visit. My husband never had time to speak to me, and when he did, it was only about sheep.