Free A Canoe In the Mist by Elsie Locke

pretence of sadness. ‘Spoiled my best story, you have.’
    Mr Bainbridge joined happily in the joke against himself, accepted Mr McRae’s assurance of a shooting trip together, and went on to ask about the prospects for seeing the Terraces.
    ‘There’s enough for the boat with the new guests upstairs, and Mr Stubbs, who’s come to stay at the other hotel,’ said Mr McRae. ‘That’s if the weather clears and there’s no other hitch.’
    ‘What sort of hitch could there be?’ asked Mr Bainbridge.
    ‘Twice last Tuesday a big wave rose up all over Lake Tarawera. An underground earthquake no doubt, but the Maori crew were nervous, as you’ll understand. If that should be repeated they’ll not take the risk.’ He looked straight at the girls as he said this, but he didn’t need to warn them to keep silent about the other source of fear. ‘There’s a leading man from Te Ariki gone up to Rotomahana this week with all his family—Te Rangiheuea. He stays on theislet of Puwai and takes the hot pools for his rheumatism. He’s to send word of any unusual activity.’
    ‘I’ve got all week and my own horse,’ said Mr Bainbridge. ‘Could I ride over? Is there a bridle track?’
    ‘There is, but they won’t let you.’
    ‘Who won’t? The Maoris? Why?’
    ‘It’s their land and their lake, Mr Bainbridge,’ Mr McRae explained. ‘To begin with, it’s dangerous to go without guides. And then there’s your gun. They keep a rahui on the lake because it’s full of waterfowl. They don’t even allow Maori guns near the place. In February they snare the birds, cook them in steam on the spot, pot them in the old way in calabashes, and feast their friends on what’s left.’
    ‘You lucky man, to live here and see that! I assure you, Mr McRae, I wouldn’t transgress against their rules. I’d leave my gun behind as a sign of good faith.’
    ‘I’m willing to believe you, Mr Bainbridge, but I’m afraid they’ve lost their faith in “good faith” long since. I’ve been shocked myself at the desecration of the Terraces. Tourists have come into this hotel with bags full of crystals broken off, and birds and insects petrified by the mineral water. They scrawl their names on the pure white sinter—’
    ‘Eleanor Fazackerley did that,’ Lillian interrupted. ‘We tried to stop her and she got wild with us. Her parents did it too.’
    ‘It looked awful,’ said Mattie.
    ‘I wish they were all like you girls.’ Mr McRae lookedapprovingly at them both. ‘Too much of that kind of vandalism and the Terraces won’t be worth seeing. In the busy season they put up warning notices and set guards on watch, but they can’t stop it all.’
    ‘I’m a good Christian man,’ said Mr Bainbridge. ‘You could tell them I respect the handiwork of God.’
    ‘There’ll be no need for that if it’s fine tomorrow,’ said Mr McRae. ‘The boat is by far the best way.’
    ‘It’s worthwhile just for the crossing of Lake Tarawera,’ Mrs Hensley said.
    In the afternoon the Pakehas of Te Wairoa came together at the Rotomahana Hotel for their regular prayer meeting and social gathering. Everybody came: the Haszards and the Humphreys and the Perhams; McRae’s brother-in-law Willie Bird who kept the store beside the hotel, with his Maori wife Kiekie and their young baby, and Sean Falloona who kept the other store; the cook George Baker and the maids Bridget and Nora; and any tourists, waggoners or workmen who might be around. Today there were two surveyors, John Blythe and Harry Lundius, who were staying in the cottage attached to the schoolhouse. It was Mr Haszard’s turn to lead the service. Ina Haszard played the piano for the hymns, and afterwards complimented Mrs Hensley on her beautiful singing.
    ‘I didn’t know she knew those hymns,’ whispered Mattie. ‘We don’t pay much heed to religion. We’ve seen so many churches and mosques and temples, Papa says he can’t tellwhich is the right one.’
    ‘But people