had been in camp for months without a break; others had been on this Survey for several years. It is a hard, rough life; felling trees, making tracks through the unknown mountains, fording and swagging on foot, shifting their camp from place to place. Yet all but one seemed full of life and cheerfulness.
“All that he has in camp or homestead proffers
To stranger guest at once a stranger host,
Proudest to see accepted what he offers,
Given without a boast!”
But I saw Ted furtively looking at his watch and I knew that we must not linger. Transome was deep in a discussion over the miracles at Lourdes; and there were so many things these men could tell me, that I was loath to go. I asked them about the kiwis—those strange wingless birds whose feathers are more like coarse hair than those of feathered fowl. They told me in the early days they were common everywhere, but that the stoats and weasels (introduced to kill out the rabbits on the east coast) have spread into the woods, and the kiwis get scarcer every year. They are night birds with immensely long beaks curved downwards, made for probing in spongy moss or soft earth. They only hatch one egg I believe, because it is nearly as large as the body of the adult bird! Of wekas or Maori hens there were plenty. They are very fearless, and often will come into camp, stealing anything they find small enough to carry off. Once a man had laid his set of teeth beside him on the grass, and a prowling
