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Chapter XIV
Chief Waimakaririrangitata

Jan nursed Uncle Stephen very carefully after the accident, but in spite of all the attention she lavished upon him he would persist in getting well. Jan at last gave up in despair. She said it was useless trying to look after an invalid who insisted upon eating three good meals a day, went riding everywhere, and sat up to all hours of the night.

I had been secretly a little worried about Jan, ever since the night of the accident, when I had heard the uncles talking on the veranda. They had said she would grow up suddenly, and somehow I expected her to shoot up all at once like Alice when she swallowed some of the magic mushroom in Alice in Wonderland. Jan grew quite cross with me.

"What are you staring at?" she asked once. "Is there anything wrong with me? I know it's your hair-ribbon, but you had my nail-file yesterday."

This was the old Jan; I felt quite relieved. She was not going to grow up yet awhile; she might even postpone the process till she was page 162eighteen or nineteen or twenty, and that was years off. Indeed, instead of growing up, Jan grew down, and slipped so far that she declared she was never going to try to be grown-up again. She was going to be fifteen always, right till she died of old age.

It began with the picnic on the island.

There was a little island at Kamahi, which lay in the middle of the pond. Here the flowers grew bigger and brighter and sweeter than anywhere else in the garden—sweet-william, shaggy verbena, foxgloves in shady spots, and sweet-scented mignonette. The pond stood smiling in a grove of English trees. In the autumn a row of poplars marched in golden splendour on the edge of the plantation, defying the sombre background of the pines, but now they were all leafy green, and rippling with sunshine and happiness. The silver birches drooped in delicate loveliness, and a big willow wept into the water.

We used to punt over the pond in the half-tank, that did duty as a boat, and picnic there. Since the day when Jock shot at a rabbit, missed Mr McPherson, and wounded Uncle Stephen, we had deserted the camp on the river-bed, and played on the island instead. Once Mr Corfan came with us.

I told you about Mr Corfan, didn't I? He was Jan's friend, the Antarctic Explorer (the capitals are Jan's) who was so good to her at the page 163dance when she did not get any dances. He was leaving for the south with another expedition in three months' time, and came to say good-bye to his friends at Te Whare. He stayed at Kamahi for three days, too—at least he came for three days, but he stayed much longer, as you will see later on.

I began to fear that once more Jan had taken another bite of Alice's mushroom, she was so very elegant and grown-up that first night Mr Corfan was with us. I saw Uncle Stephen's lips twitch more than once, and even the visitor looked at her in surprise. Jan, however, was quite pleased with herself until Uncle John sent her off to bed with me at nine o'clock.

"Anyway, Mr Corfan won't think me a silly little kid," she said, with satisfaction. "Ngaire, did you hear me discussing Antarctic Exploration just as if I went to the Pole every holiday?"

She looked at herself in the glass, and eyed her long black legs and her hair with disgust. "If only my skirts were longer, and my hair bobbed— if I hadn't any legs or any hair—and if he didn't know my real age Mr Corfan would have taken me for twenty at the very least."

She kept it up all next morning, when we accompanied Uncle Stephen and Mr Corfan round the paddocks. After lunch the visitor was to ride over to Waihola with Uncle Dan and Kathie, page 164and since they had not invited us we decided to stay at home.

"I think they might have taken us," Jan complained.

Pipi giggled.

"He doesn't want you all the time," she remarked. "Uncle John said only this morning, 'Now don't you children go worryin' the life out of Mr Corfan.' You know he did."

"He meant you and Jock," Jan answered, hastily.

"No, he didn't. He said it to you " That afternoon we decided to picnic on Onawe, and Jan, Suffering a reaction after so much dignified behaviour, said she would join us.

"Ask Mrs McPherson if she will give us some cakes," she suggested. "Kathie was cooking this morning, and there's bound to be some she won't want."

Pipi shook her head.

"She wouldn't give them to me. She's as cross as two sticks. Why, she snapped my nose off just because I went into the dairy to get some cream."

"You try, Jock," Jan said, but Jock refused, so Jan herself went off to beard the lioness in her den, leaving Jock, Pipi, and me waiting for her on the lawn.

The tattooing was Pipi's suggestion. She orna-page 165mented her face with the juice of scarlet geraniums, and Jock and I were so taken with the effect that we experimented too. When Jan came out, rather hurriedly, and saw us she laughed so much that she let the picnic-basket fall to the ground.

"Look out! What did she give you?" I asked, rescuing the provisions.

"Cakes, scones, tea, a piece of cold fowl for sandwiches, and a hunk of bread and butter." "Oh!"

"At least she wasn't there, so I took what I wanted. I say, Ngaire, you do look funny. I believe I'll do my face too. Wait a sec. I've an idea."

She disappeared into the house, and Jock and I hunted out the billy, and gathered wood for the fire. A gasp from Jock and a delighted squeal from Pipi were the first warnings I had of Jan's approach, and when I saw her I turned green with envy.

Her face was really a work of art. Round her lips she had painted a curly smile, which made us laugh helplessly. She had also put in a little ornamental work in blobs of colour on her cheeks, and a few horizontal lines here and there to give it a finish.

"How does it look?" she asked, regarding us with a smile which was simply fiendish. "It's page 166Kathie's hat dye. I'm Chief Waimakaririran-gitataselwynorari."

"Selwyn isn't Maori," I cried, laughing weakly. "Jan, you look awful. I'll die if I laugh any more. D-don't!"

Jan was gratified. She capered before us, brandishing her hockey-stick, and shouting out the names of the Canterbury rivers and towns in succession, which except for pakeha, the native for 'white man,' was all the Maori she knew. But "Waimakariri, Rangiora, Kaiapoi, Orari, Hororata, Timaru" sounded blood-thirsty enough when Jan reeled it off in her best war-dance style. Pipi and I were struck speechless with admiration.

"Waimak—Waimak—Waimak—" Jan said, and trailed away to a whisper, her eyes sticking out of her head, her mouth open.

"Wai—mak—Waimak—" Jan repeated, helplessly. Having once started, she did not seem able to stop. "Waimakar—Corfan!"

He was there, standing on the veranda, smiling at us. He had not gone with Uncle Dan and Kathie after all. He had been in the library reading, and we had not known of it.

Some of us, as Jan said afterward, quoting Scripture, are born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward. She said she thought she was a bonfire all on her own. Nothing happened to her as it did to other people. She had spent the whole page 167morning showing Mr Corfan how very grown-up she was, and then, just when she was not expecting him, he appeared, and upset everything. After this, Jan gave up in despair, and began to enjoy herself. It was not so very hard either, since Mr Corfan climbed down to about fifteen, and joined us.

"Playing at Indians?" he asked, smiling. "I used to do that when I was a kid."

"Yes—at least I'm playing Maoris to amuse the children," Jan answered, dropping her blanket, and making a clutch at her dignity. "I'm Chief Waimakaririrangitata," she added, forgetting again, and grinning horribly.

He bore it; he stood it without flinching.

"Are you going to picnic? May I come too? I should like a cup of billy-tea."

"I was going to—to amuse the children," Jan said again, but this was too much for Pipi.

"Ooooh! You wanted to do it yourself. An' you painted your face awful—worse'n any of us. We're going to have tea on the island," she added, turning to Mr Corfan. "Do come, please."

"May I, Jan?" He asked Jan's permission, just as he would have asked Kathie's or Mrs Johnson's. Jan flushed with pleasure, and in spite of her tattooing felt somewhere about forty-five.

He came with us; he would not let Jan wash page 168off her decorations either. He said he had not played Indians or Maoris for more years than he liked to remember, and he was not going to miss the chance. He was so merry and jolly that he seemed like one of us. At Pipi's request he even consented to decorate his face with a few ornamental touches, to make him really one of the party.

"Jan shan't be the only artistic native," he said. "I painted my face hundreds of times when I was a boy. Let me see—it went like this."

He ornamented it with a few scrolls and lines here and there, but the geranium leaves were not a great success, so Jan brought some of her mixture in a saucer. He eyed it dubiously for a moment.

"Go on!" begged Pipi.

"Well, if you guarantee that I shan't be seen by any civilized people," he answered, laughing, and plunged boldly in.

His efforts left nothing to be desired, and the scrolly effect on his right cheek was really a work of art. He was not as ferocious as Jan, but he was more artistic. We laughed till we cried as we looked at him. Encouraged, he added a few touches, here and there, till we could not even smile—it hurt.

We had the jolliest game after this, for Jan, feeling the fates were against her, and Mr Corfan with her, decided it was useless ever to try to page 169be grown-up any more. We christened him "Chief Hauhau," and boiled our billy and ate our cakes with him on the little island. Then, tired of play, we sat round and he told us stories of the great white lands where he was going, of the men who had given their lives there, of Captain Scott and Captain Oates, that "very gallant gentleman." Jock decided to be an explorer when he grew up, and Jan's eyes shone.

"I'd love to go there," she said. "I can see it all. I know just what it is like."

"You can never forget it," Mr Corfan answered, slowly. "There is something compelling in the silence and the loneliness. I have always wanted to go back."

He was talking to Jan, just as he would have talked to the uncles or Kathie. Jan looked at him seriously.

"I know. Do you sail soon?"

"In three months. By Jove! It's six o'clock. I didn't know it was so late."

We hadn't realized it either, and we hastily gathered billy and baskets and crowded into the boat. Mr Corfan took the oar. He did not understand the playful ways of our craft, and everything happened just as I knew it would happen. Jan jumped safely. Jock jumped safely. Pipi and Mr Corfan landed in the tank. I came last, and before I was properly settled the boat page 170set off, as it had a habit of doing, carrying my legs, while the top part of me grasped an overhanging bush for support. Pipi squealed; Jock clutched Jan; I gave up in despair; and the tank toppled to one side and deposited the whole party gently but firmly in the water.

Fortunately it was not deep, just up to Pipi's shoulders, and we rose, gasping and shuddering. In the excitement of the moment one thing escaped our notice. We were all too muddy, and too eager to reach the shore, to take warning. Even Jan and Mr Corfan were oblivious of the horrible fact.

The paint hadn't smudged in the water. It was as fresh and as beautifully patterned as ever. Jan smiled; Mr Corfan smiled; they went joking up to the house. Poor Jan! Poor Mr Corfan! If they had known!

We gained the house in safety. Mr Corfan sought the bathroom, and Jan retired to her own room, intending to emerge fresh and smiling in a clean frock. Instead she came out as a Maori chieftainess.

I went into the bedroom ten minutes later. Jan was standing before the mirror, her eyes glassy, her skin red and shiny under the tattooing, which stood forth in all its horror on her face. She looked at me; she came forward; her voice was low and hushed.

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"Ngaire!" she said, in an awful voice. "Ngaire! It won't come off!"

"W-what!" I gasped, losing my head. "W-what! Have you t-t-tried soap? A-and p-p-pumice?"

I could hardly keep the quiver out of my voice. Jan looked so funny standing there, soap in one hand, despair in her eyes, and the curly smile round her lips.

"It's—very funny. Of course it's funny. Ngaire, don't be a pig. I can't go round like this all my life. Fancy going to school with a Maori face. Fancy going to church. F-f-fancy s-s-singing h-hymns."

I gave it up then, and laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks, and after a moment Jan joined me. Suddenly she paused, as if stricken dumb. She gazed at me tragically.

"Ngaire!" she cried. "He used the same stuff!"

As if in answer to her words I heard voices in the passage. Mr Corfan was standing at the bathroom door and his eyes held a mixture of amusement and horror. He was talking to Uncle Dan.

"Jerusalem!" he cried, and added, just as Jan had done, "it won't come off!"

Uncle Dan acted just as Uncle Dan might have been expected to act. He threw back his head, and laughed and laughed till I thought he was page 172never going to stop. Once or twice he made a vain struggle to let politeness get the upper hand, but when Jan appeared with her smile and her blobs, he gave a sort of howl and fell on a chair. Mr Corfan looked at Jan, and Jan looked at the explorer.

"It was Kathie's hat dye," Jan said. "I never knew it was permanent. Whatever shall we do?"

And then they sat down and joined Uncle Dan.

It would not come off. They tried everything, and each application only served to put the finishing touches to the design, to polish and varnish them up, as it were. At last they gave up in despair.

"There's nothing but time," Uncle Stephen said. "It will wear off, of course, but it will probably take weeks."

"Then I won't have to go about like this always?" Jan asked, in relief.

"And I can be guaranteed not to frighten the penguins when I go south. It is to be hoped they have a sense of humour—they'll need it," Mr Corfan added grimly.

He was very nice about it. He joked with Jan, though it could not have been pleasant for him, and he must have choked every time he looked in the glass. As for Jan, she never went near a mirror. She said she would either die or have a fit every time she looked at herself.

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Jan dined with the uncles and Kathie and Rob every night after this. Mr Corfan said he could not face the ordeal by himself. Uncle John and Uncle Stephen preserved their gravity wonderfully, but Uncle Dan upset the whole table, and Kathie had to be led away in hysterics. She said the sight of the assembled natives was too much for her.

"You must just hate me," Jan said to the explorer later. "It's all my fault. It's just the silly sort of thing I'm always doing. Anyone else would have known that stuff wouldn't come off." The Chief smiled at her, and the effect was kindly, if rather terrific.

"On the contrary, Jan, I like you. And think of the holiday we shall have. I can't go on to Te Whare, and you can't go back to school. What do you say to slipping off now? Visitors are coming up the drive. Shall we picnic on our own down by the river?"

Of course Jan agreed, and they raided the kitchen, securing cakes and the billy. Later they added Jock, Pipi, and me to their party, for we saw them stealing through the plantation, and did not mean to be left out of anything.

"We've got gooseberries," Pipi said. "Mr and Mrs Johnson are coming up the drive."

"That is why we are flying," Mr Corfan answered. "It Would be all very well for you page 174kids, but Jan and I don't want to be found like a couple of Cherokees at a civilized feast, do we, Jan?"

Jan grinned horribly.

"Not much!" she said, and I could see that, despite curly smile, blobs of colour, and various ornamental touches, her cup of happiness was full to the brim.