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latter town, he found a river so swollen that he couldn’t ford it. He agreed with a Maori to give him a cast over in a canoe, and paid him on landing. Returning with a small bottle of medicine for a neighbour, he got the same Maori to take him back, and paid him the same fare. On reaching the other side the Maori demanded more, but was refused. Watching his opportunity, he snatched the “trongo” (medicine) and made off with it. My father did not see him again until the following Sunday, when he met him on his way to church with a book in his hand. My father took the book from him and said, “Now you give me my ‘trongo,’ and I will give you your book.” There was a row, and the chief came on the scene, and inquired as to the dispute. The Maori told his version, and the chief, turning to my father, said:—“Now, Mr. Hay, let me hear what you have to say.” My father then described the entire incident. Turning to his tribesman, the chief said: “Is this true?” The answer was an assent. The chief ordered him at once to go for the “trongo.” He replied that it was locked in his box, and his wife, who was from two to three miles away, had the key. The chief
