the long descent to the plain. It was the hottest part of the day too, and Tom and I were leisurely coming along the narrow path when I heard a delightful whistling. I was quite prepared to welcome any new and beautiful sight or sound, and looked all round for the bird. Still the whistling came nearer, and turning, I saw behind me a young man in shirt-sleeves and bare legs, wheeling a bicycle. I was so astonished at the sight, I stared in amazement, and drew Tom in close to the bank to let him pass. But my whistling bird stopped, and greeting me in friendly fashion, announced he had something for me. He drew out a little packet from his breast, saying I had left it behind at the Waitaha, and he had been on our tracks ever since—I was glad to find not specially to restore my property! I asked him what he was doing with a bicycle in such a country, and how he got through the rivers. He laughed, and said he carried it on his shoulders, or a friend might lend him a horse when the fords were deep. “It’s a sight quicker than walking, and there’s a wonderful lot of the track you can ride.”
Then he disappeared down among the trees. I followed and found Transome near a very rough torrent-bed, where the water plunged across the way in noisy cataracts. My “bird” had just got over safely, with his bicycle held aloft—and we both agreed we preferred a horse.
Presently a road took the place of the track, and led us out on to the plain, and up to the
