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Chapter XV
The Dim Land

At school there are boys and girls who appear a week or two weeks after term begins; they have been enjoying measles, mumps, or whooping-cough caught during the holidays. Others are detained by flooded rivers or motor breakdowns. But we didn't need any measles or a motor accident. Jan simply turned into a Maori during the holidays, and we all gained an extra five weeks' freedom from lessons.

Dad and Mother, who had arrived home, and were expecting us, came down to Kamahi on a flying visit, and for fully an hour after he had seen Jan Father was speechless. He said it was the curly smile which did it. He could have borne anything else—even the blobs—but the smile was too much for him.

"About school," he said, and glanced at Jan, and choked. "I cannot imagine any class proceeding calmly with its work with such—such an unusual-looking pupil in its midst. I—think you had better stay here a while longer—that is, if you don't mind, John," Father added, throwing back his head, and laughing helplessly.

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"What about us—me and Ngaire and Jock?" Pipi asked, wishing she had not overlooked the advantages of hat dye; geranium juice washed off too easily. "We couldn't go back without Jan. They'd all ask where she was, an' we couldn't say she'd painted herself, an' it wouldn't come off, an' she had to stay till it did," finished Pipi virtuously.

"How about an extra month all round?" suggested Uncle John. "They would soon make it up, and I think we could put up with the little rascals a while longer," he said, tweaking Pipi's curls.

Father wouldn't have given in, though Jock, Pipi, and I were wild to stay, but every time he looked at Jan he laughed, and in the end he gave up the struggle, and did as we asked. Rob was not going back to school, and as the University term did not begin for two months, he stayed too. Kathie had still to pass in pastry and cakes, so she decided not to go home either. It meant an extra month for us all.

Even the weather was accommodating—such perfect sunny days, with never a hint of wind or rain to mar the beauty of them. We rode our ponies all over the place, went driving with the uncles, and took a prominent part in the harvesting operations. I do not know what the uncles would have done without us.

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The raspberries were ripe in the orchard now, and we picked basketfuls for Mrs McPherson, and superintended Kathie's progress in jam. We picnicked too, down by the river or in the plantations and Mr Corfan spent most of his time with us. He said that when he was with us—and more particularly with Jan—he felt less like an illustration in Funny Cuts, and more like Chief Hauhau among his tribe. He entered into everything we did, just as he had entered into the game which ended so disastrously. Every day we liked him more and more.

His tattooing showed every sign of wearing well—so did Jan's. Meal-times were an agony to Kathie. She sat down with an expression of intense solemnity, but before the pudding arrived she was laughing helplessly at the poorest jokes, and if ever she let her eyes meet Chief Hauhau's she was done for. Twice she had to leave the table, and she never got through a meal without disgracing us all.

"I—I can't help it," she told us, nearly in tears. "It's—every time I look at him I want to shriek. He looks so—so f-f-funny."

Kathie was not the only one who was affected by the sight of the peculiar decorations. One day Mr Somerset came down from the mountains. He appeared unexpectedly, and very soon we discovered why he had come.

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"I want to borrow the three little girls for a fortnight or so, if you can spare them," he said. "It is lonely for Nan, and I should like her to have some companions. Ngaire and Jan and the little—ah—Flounder," he added, laughing at Pipi.

He paused. Jan was coming round the corner of the house. She did not see the visitor, but he looked at her in a dazed sort of way. He turned to Uncle Stephen.

"Surely—ah—an unusual decoration," he said.

Mr Corfan followed, looking like Chief Hauhau in a ferocious mood. Mr Somerset gasped, and turned pitifully to Uncle, but Uncle Stephen did not answer him. I hardly like to mention it, but really there was no disguising the fact that Uncle was laughing.

Jan was almost reconciled to her tattooing when she heard what she had escaped. She said nothing, not even Patrick Wayne Somerset and a team of bullocks, could have dragged her to Jordan.

"I always feel," she said, sadly, "like a beastly little creepy-crawly insect when he looks at me. I always expect him to say: 'Ah! a specimen of the Janibus Bugibus. Most interesting! And where is it found?'"

"What about us—me and Ngaire?" Pipi demanded. "'Spect he'll say: 'Ah! a specimen of the Pipius Ngairibus.' But we didn't tell page 179him he'd an ugly face, and what we'd do to him," Pipi remarked complacently.

"I'm glad I did," Jan answered, fiercely. "And anyway you don't mind going. You're glad to go."

"It's for Nan's sake," I answered morally, but all the same it was true. I was looking forward to the trip into the mountains. I had heard so much of that part of the country that it seemed to me an enchanted land. Perhaps we should see David again—the wonderful valley lay hidden somewhere at the back of Jordan.

Uncle Stephen had a long talk with us before we left, and Pipi and I took out our best behaviour, and put it on for the occasion. Not that Uncle Stephen asked this; he never even hinted that we did not wear it always. He seemed particularly anxious to talk about Nan and Patrick Wayne. He said that Pat wanted us for companions for Nan. He was beginning to realize how isolated a life she had lived, and felt that we could do much for her before she went to school.

"He has decided to put her into a boarding-school next term," Uncle said. "It's up to you, Ngaire, and you too, Pipi, to see what you can do."

We felt almost like missionaries; it made us quite solemn when we thought of our responsibilities. Pipi brought out her Good Resolution Book—she had forgotten it since our arrival at Kamahi—and made the first entry:

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"What to Do at Jordan."

"Influns Nan and her Brother for Good."

We were to leave Kamahi quite early in the morning, before the dawn, as Mr Somerset wanted to do the trip in one day. We would have breakfast and lunch on the road, and Pipi and I looked forward to the journey. The stars were still shining when we arose and, muffled in our big blue coats, sat down to bacon and eggs, served by a sleepy Mary, in the dining-room.

"Eat plenty. You will be hungry soon. You've a long drive before you. Another piece of bacon, Ngaire?" asked Uncle John.

We were not hungry. There was a thrill in the early morning departure which ordinary day-light travelling did not have. Uncle Stephen and Uncle John came down the drive with us, and said "Good-bye" at the white gate. Uncle Dan, lazy thing, did not appear.

"Just a week. We can't spare them for more than a week," Uncle John said, as we drove away.

The birds were twittering in the trees, greeting the new day with song. The clouds, banked in the east, were tipped with a soft pink, which turned to gold, against which they floated, strange shapes, like the buttresses of some old castle. Then they too melted into the golden sea, and like a great shining globe, piercing the horizon, the sun appeared. We drove on silently; it was page 181all so fresh and sweet and wonderful, with a fragrance that the heat of the day would brush away. The sheep nibbling the grass raised inquiring heads; once we passed a solitary figure, making his way, with a heavy load on his back, down the white road toward the station.

"He looks like Christian—in The Pilgrim's Progress, you know," I said, turning my head to catch another glimpse of the patient, plodding figure.

Pipi turned too.

"Pooh! His bundle's only a swag — just blankets. Christian's was sins. He must have been an awful wicked man," she said. Pipi is not imaginative.

We reached Kinloch about eight o'clock, and changed horses, in readiness for the trip into the mountains. Mr and Mrs Campbell were at Jordan now, and only a shepherd was in charge, but he boiled the kettle and made tea, and Mr Somerset produced interesting things out of a basket Mrs McPherson had packed. We ate our lunch on the stretch of lawn, and Patrick Wayne made three jokes, quite like Uncle Dan. I really felt I was going to like him without any streaks at all.

Then, refreshed and invigorated, we climbed into the buggy once more, and went at a swinging trot down to the river, and then, crossing it, into the Promised Land.

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Have you ever read the story of Arthur's Knights, in Tennyson's Idylls of the King? Jan did it for English at school last term. There is one part that tells how all day long we rode Thro' the dim land against a rushing wind.

I had always pictured that land, grey and mysterious, with high roads leading through great mountains, and with rocks, like dim battlements, piled overhead. The clouds, which had been banked in the east when we set off in the morning, had spread, and now covered the sky. All around the mountains shut us in—great rugged mountains, with shingle slips like scars down the sides of mighty peaks, with bush clinging here and there to the hillside, straggling to a few low-growing shrubs, and disappearing altogether higher up. We drove through the gorge of the river, over a road hanging terrifyingly above a thin, blue streak of water; we wound round brown hills, and past little brown lakes, their waters moved by the passing of the wind. All day long we travelled, and it was late evening when we turned into a valley, which opened unexpectedly. Somewhere near I could hear a river rushing, with a louder, angrier sound than the river at Kamahi. A light gleamed out comfortingly; a dog barked. We had arrived at Jordan at last.

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In the dim light we could see the house—a low, cob structure, standing on the slope of a frowning hill. Nan was waiting for us, a solitary speck on the lonely hillside. She was bare-legged and bare-headed as usual, but her hair had grown, and seemed more than ever a halo round her small brown face.

"Come along in with you straight away. The kettle's on," welcomed Bridget, and Mr Campbell said "Oh, aye," and seemed pleased to see us.

We were tired after the long day's travelling, and very glad to slip between the sweet-smelling sheets and drift into dreamland. Somewhere in my sleep I heard the owls flying round the house, and, half waking, listened to their dreary cry: "More pork! More pork!"

There was a creek near the house too. I could hear it tumbling over the stones.

Next morning the sun was shining cheerfully, and it shone all the following week. We went riding with Nan, up the valley, and over the first low spurs. We wandered down the little creek which in winter, Nan said, became a roaring torrent, and sat and dabbled our feet in the clear waters. We searched for mountain rubies, which were to be found on the hillside, and we gathered the bush flowers and ferns and pressed them to take home. Sometimes Pat accompanied us, and once he led us away up the spur, over the jagged page 184hills, till, hidden near the top of a high peak, we came across a field of wonderful mountain lilies— pure white flowers with golden centres. The hill-side was shining with them.

I began to like Patrick Wayne, and I think he liked us too. In the evenings he would sit with us on the stretch of green before the house, and smoke while we lounged on the grass, talking and laughing among ourselves. Sometimes we were quiet too. Now that I had seen Jordan I began to understand Nan as I had never understood her before. It was such a wild, lonely spot, and Nan had lived there all her life. I think Pat was beginning to understand too. He seemed to take more notice of Nan; in his own way I think he was reaching out and trying to understand her. It only needed something to sweep away the barriers which the years had raised, to show them how much they really were to each other.

One evening we sat on the grass outside. We had been talking of the holidays, and of our return to school, and Nan had grown suddenly silent, and Pat looked troubled. The school question was still a worrying one, and though we knew he meant to send Nan next term, the subject was seldom mentioned. Pipi began to talk of Jan, and her tattooing.

"Hope it isn't right yet," she remarked. "D'reckly it is well all have to go home, and the page 185holidays will end. Wish she'd put it on a bit thicker."

"Well, we've had nine weeks already," I said. "I'll be sorry to leave Kamahi—and Jordan, of course," I added hastily. "But there's Mother and Dad. Oh, won't I be glad to see Mother. They were away a whole year once, in England, you know, and sometimes it seemed as if they'd never be back."

Pat did not seem to hear me. Nan was standing beside him, and quite suddenly he put out his hand, and drew her to him. For the first time, I think, he realized what Nan had missed. She had never known her father or her mother, and nothing could ever quite make up to her for what she had lost. Why, who in the whole world could take Mother's place? I couldn't bear to think of living without her.

To the right, over the hill, hidden by the purpling shadows, lay the shingle slip. I was thinking of it then, and I know he was thinking too, for I saw him draw Nan more closely to him, as if he would not let her go again. He had known his father and mother; tragedy had slipped in and darkened his boyhood, but there were years of love and tenderness to which he could look back. Nan had not even memories.

Tenderly the shadows lengthened, wrapping us round. Pipi, unusually silent, lay on the grass, page 186her chin resting on her hands. I hugged my knees beside her, and the stillness and the peace of the night sent my thoughts wandering in strange ways. I thought great big thoughts which would surprise you, and yet, if I tried, I couldn't put them into words. They come in the mountains.

Nan and Pat were hidden by the darkness now, but I knew she had slipped on to the arm of his chair, and he was holding her. When, much later, so late that Uncle John would have had what Jan calls a "navy-blue fit," Bridget came to call us to bed, he bent down and kissed Nan.

"Good night—little sister," he said quietly. I was so happy I could have cried.