ago, and the stores, gone south by steamers, coaches, and carriers, should meet us at Pembroke on Lake Wanaka.
Fairlie’s wide streets and little white houses looked nearly blistered with the heat, and nothing could less resemble a northern Christmas.
Very early next morning I drew up my blind and looked out. The glorious Christmas star hung like a globe of fire near the low moon, wreaths of white mist lay along the distant hills and mountains, and the east was flushing rosy—it was only a little after three and I went back to bed. About seven we strapped on the packs and set forth. The first stage was but six miles, to a little school-house where a Christmas service was to be held at eight o’clock. Some children on bare-back ponies came galloping up, and their brother, whom we knew, took our horses, and tied them to the fence, while his little sisters took me into church. I think the congregation numbered ten all told, but we sang a Christmas hymn, and when we came out everybody shook hands and wished each other the Season’s greetings. Rain was falling gently, like June rain at home. We rode to an inn for breakfast, and later paid a visit to and had Christmas dinner with our little friends. That night we slept at Burke’s Pass, some 2,000 feet above the plains. The air was deliciously fresh after the stuffiness below, and we strolled up the pass before bedtime. There is a graveyard at the top, and it seemed as if the pioneers of these regions must
