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Chapter V
The Invasion of the Mclennans

This chapter is about a heroine.

And the heroine is Jan!

You didn't expect that, did you?

We did not expect it either, and when it happened we were so surprised that we could not get over the wonder of it for nearly a week. The whole thing was very exciting, and Jan herself was the only one who would not talk about it afterwards, but, as Denise said, that was quite as it should be. Real, true heroines never boast of nor discuss their own brave deeds. Denise——

Oh, I forgot, you haven't been introduced to Denise McLennan, have you? She drove over to Kamahi the day following our disastrous attempt at river bathing, and with her came Nancy, her sister, aged twelve, and her brothers, Alan, Wally and Peter. Denise herself was just sixteen, and oh, the pity of it, she was quite, quite lame, and could only walk with the aid of a pair of crutches. So, of course, she had to lie back in a soft, cushioned seat in the low-wheeled buggy, instead of riding a prancing, dancing pony as the others did.

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Pipi and I were in the office talking to Uncle John when we heard the shouts which heralded their arrival.. We would have gone out to them at once, but uncle was so interested in the conversation that we did not like to interrupt him. He had sent for us early in the morning.

"You're to go to him at once. He's waiting for you," Jan told us. She had just come from the office herself, and she held in her hand the scrunched-up pieces of leather which were all that was left of "Count Veroni."

"Was Uncle Stephen angry?" I asked, thinking that Jan had had much the best of it and wishing that our interview had been with Uncle Stephen instead of Uncle John.

"He wasn't the least bit angry. He just told me to be careful next time, and he's going to lend me some books. He's a dear," Jan finished enthusiastically.

Uncle John was waiting to receive us in the office, which is really just a closed in part of the veranda, where the uncles keep their fusty, dusty ledgers and business books. Fie didn't waste any time over preliminaries, but started straight away, telling us what he thought about us and what he didn't think. We were idle, careless children, he said, and were breaking our parents' hearts, and had smashed up the stop bank below the second plantation.

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"It will take the men two days to put it right," he said, glaring at us. "Now, understand! I forbid you to go near the river again. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," I answered very gently, trying to propitiate him, while Pipi mopped a wholly imaginary tear.

"You might have been drowned/' continued uncle. "Indeed, I cannot understand how you escaped" And, as Pipi said afterwards, he really seemed quite disappointed.

"Jock would have been drowned if Ngaire hadn't catched him," announced Pipi tactlessly.

"Pipi pulled us out. We'd have stuck on the bank for ever if she hadn't." "Ngaire— —"

"I don't want to hear," cried uncle, interrupting us. "Remember, you are not to go near the river again. I distinctly forbid it—that is, unless you are accompanied by-some responsible person. Do you understand?"

We said we did, and Pipi asked if Jan was responsible. Uncle answered, "Certainly not!" very loud. Jan was wild when we told her.

We stayed with uncle for nearly half and hour, and when we came out we found the McLennans seated in the shade of the trees which border the Barn Paddock, entertaining Jan; who looked very warm and far from happy. Jan—oh, I haven't told you where the McLennans came from and why they page 70came. They owned The Point, a station eighteen miles up the river, and had driven over to Kamahi to have a look at us. They stayed the whole day too, and didn't Uncle John say things when they had gone!

Really, I think the uncles began to appreciate us a little that day. The only things that the McLennans cared to do were the things that were forbidden. They raced two of Uncle Stephen's best horses against two of their own, and when the race ended in a heat Jock and Wally McLennan had a fight to settle matters. Jock had joined us soon after lunch, when the uncles and Kathie were safely out of the way.

"Wasn't going to stop in that blessed old bed all day," he growled. "It's warm as anything."

So he stayed with us all the afternoon and developed croup every night for a week afterwards.

I wish you could have seen Denise McLennan as I saw her that day. She wasn't exactly pretty—her face was too thin and pale. She seemed all eyes-great, restless eyes which defied your sympathy. She was clever too, and witty and amusing, but her tongue was so sharp that Jan went up to the house to see about afternoon tea directly lunch was over. Mrs. McPherson brought out the tea three hours later, but Jan didn't come with it. In fact, she never put in an appearance till— But you will page 71[gap — reason: delete] ar about that later. Don't skip the pages. Read steadily on; you will come to it in time.

I sat on the ground beside Denise and tried to entertain her, but all the time we were talking her eyes were on the others, who were riding up and down the paddock, racing and leaping the fences in a perilous way. You could see her whole soul looking out of her eyes, and almost hear her cry to be with them again, the best rider, the best jumper, the leader of them all. Once, when Wally funked a fence, she raised herself excitedly, then slipped back into her chair, her face very white.

"It's — nothing," she gasped. "Don't — be — frightened. I'm—not—going to die. It's—only— only—"

Her eyes held mine, saying as plainly as words could say:

"Don't you dare to be sorry for me. Don't you dare say you're sorry for me."

But I was. Why, I couldn't help it. Somehow or other my arms crept round Denise, just as they creep round Kathie when she has the miserables. Somehow or other, I forgot that Denise was sixteen and almost a stranger, and after a while I think that Denise forgot it too. The colour came back into her face at last, though her lips were strained and set.

"I'm all right now, Ngaire," she said, rather roughly it must be confessed; but then, the pain had page 72been so very cruel. "Don't look so frightened— there's nothing to be scared of. Why, I often have these turns—two or three times a day if I'm not care-ful."

"But you ought to be careful. You ought to be very careful, Denise. It will take you such a long time to get well if you keep on having bad turns."

"That's what father and the doctor say. They're always fussing. Dad didn't want me to come to-day, but I get so tired of staying at home and seeing only the same old people every day. Once I used to be always out, riding over the hills and the river bed for miles and miles—even the men wouldn't venture where I went—right up the hill-sides and down the gullies and the slippery mountain-sides. Oh, Ngaire, I want to go again. I want to be free. I can't— I won't lie still for ever. How would you like it? Nothing to look forward to for years and years and years. They say I'll be better some day, but it's only 'perhaps.' Why didn't I die right out when Jack threw me over the cliff at Konini Gulley? Why—oh, Ngaire! Ngaire!"

Oh! it hurt me to see her then, with cheeks blazing and eyes shining out of her poor thin face, and to know that for years and years she would never walk or ride again, and, worse still, to know that she knew it too. Once, not a year ago, she had been so fearless, so daring, and then had come the ac-page 73cident which would chain her to a couch or a chair for years maybe. She was so brave too, and bore the pain as I could never have borne it. "I get used to it, you see," she told me.. But I don't think that being used to a bad thing makes it any easier, do you?