Page:Through South Westland.djvu/103

hills and forest, to the far-away coast line and the hazy sea. Having welcomed us, the Eremite dived into the dark recess of his dwelling, emerging again with a bottle and a tumbler. “Come in, come in,” he invited us, “and taste my home brew”; and as we declined to enter: “Well, you’ll take a glass anyway”—and forthwith he poured out some of his herb-beer. I hope we did not hurt his feelings by any seeming reluctance, but truth to tell it was a fearsome decoction, and a sip was enough. He then set off to hunt for strawberries, and presented me with two—there was quite a promising colony established on his roof. “Now,” he said, “you’ll come down into my gold mine,” and with incredible agility he set off down the ravine, scrambling over rocks, and hopping from stone to stone like an uncouth old bird. He had paved a little runnel which he calls his “race,” and at the bottom was the scene of his labours. A crowbar, a pick, and a shovel lay near; here he delves in the grit and débris of the old working, apparently quite happy. His face fell for a moment when I asked if he ever got any gold out of it. “Not for a long time now; no, not for a long time—it may be two years and more since gold came out of it.” But he cheered up immediately, and scrambled back to his wharé, and came a little way with us to show us the best road. We learnt he had squatted there for eight years quite alone, and went by the name of “Piggery Charlie.”