CHAPTER VI.
THE BLUE RIVER HUT AND THE CROSSING OF THE HAAST.
Before us stretched the pine-trees’ sombre miles,
Soft lay the moss, like furs upon the floor;
Behind, the woodland’s green monotonous aisles,
Closed far away by sunset’s amber door.
League after league the same. The sky grew red,
And through the trees appeared a snowy gleam
Of lonely peak and spectral mountain head,
And gulfs that nurse the glacier and the stream.
After all our straying it was very pleasant to be guided in safety to a night’s resting-place. Candles and lanterns flitted out of the house, held by dark figures, and kind Irish voices bade us welcome, and lamented over me: “Sure you must be tired out; we’ve been looking for you all the afternoon; however did ye miss the track?” I was led in and divested of hat and knapsack, and we were soon sitting down to a hot tea-supper. Everyone wanted to talk, and we could hardly get on with our eating. At last the mother ordered silence: “Let them alone, can’t you—till they’ve done, and then we’ll talk.” I really was a novelty down there—the first lady traveller—and they could not do enough for me; I hope they knew I was grateful.
When morning came we found we were in a valley, among the usual high-forest-covered hills,
