walls behind the bunks are lined with linoleum. There is a strip of cocoa, matting on the floor, and each hut contains a big table, two large white enamelled basins, jugs, soap-dishes, and a mirror.
We lunched at Mid-camp, off pea-soup, tinned tongue, fresh potatoes and green peas, the nicest bread, made by the cook, and delicious butter, apricots, cheese, marmalade and biscuits. And though every ounce of flour and butter, every tin of meat and jam, &c., has to be brought by rail from Dunedin, by coach from Lumsden, across the lake in the steamer, and finally carried on men’s backs to the camps, where a cook has to be permanently in attendance, the uniform charge per meal per person all the way along the track is only 2/-.
We dawdled about till two o’clock, taking photographs, getting some extra nails put into our boots, and watching the Maori hens, or wekas, wingless birds that are the most impudent birds in creation, with the magpie’s horrid habit of stealing and hiding anything bright. And we arrived at Mintaro, just comfortably tired, at four o’clock, and were greatly pleased to find that the Eight really had gone on. They had lunched there, or rather, since it was quite early, had had a dejeuner a la fourchette, and intended to sleep at the Sutherland Falls hut that night.
Dinner was ready by six,—hare soup, salmon, corned beef, potatoes and peas, apricots and rice, bread, biscuits, and butter, jam, cheese, and coffee.
It was a glorious star-lit night with a touch of frost in the air. The river looked very beautiful, flowing so silently between its fern-clad, bush-shadowed banks, and a far-off tui made music that roused the carping jealousy of the Maori hens, who screeched in envy. I walked about with Colonel Deane and Captain Greendays, up and down the track, while Mrs Greendays had a hot tub in our hut, prepared for her by the obliging old cook. And later on, when I had had mine and we were both snugly tucked up in our kapok nests, with the firelight dancing on the brown boards and the great logs hissing and crackling a pleasant lullaby, we vowed that we had never been so comfortable and cosy since we landed in New Zealand.
It is not often that one has an opportunity of resting in a silence so profound that it can almost be felt; even in the country there are noises, the sounds of the farm-yard, the twittering of birds, or at least that indefinable something which intrudes wherever there are human habitations. But we fell asleep that night at Mintaro in an absolute stillness, unbroken even by the rustling of leaves or the soft swish of a summer breeze; the river ran too deep to be heard, birds and beasts there were none save the wekas and a few wild-duck on the river, in that quiet, solitary valley under the everlasting hills, and but for the caretakers at Mid-camp and Glade House no other human beings were on this side of the lofty pass between us and the sea at Milford.
I was awakened suddenly by a far-off crash. Startled, I sat up in bed and listened. Its reverberations among the mountains rumbled threateningly, sullenly, for some moments, a weka complained peevishly, disturbed, probably,
