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‘Yes, sir. But I will get my hat and come along.’

Geoffrey entered the wide hall and took his hat from the stand. He could hear talking in a side room and the door-handle turned as he passed. Reaching the verandah, he heard his name called, and turning he saw Eve Milward coming towards him, accompanied by a tall man of dark complexion. Geoffrey looked at him at first with indifference, then with more interest.

‘Mr. Hernshaw—the Reverend Mr. Fletcher.’

The tavo men looked at one another and hesitated, then Mr. Fletcher, with a stiff inclination of his head, turned to Major Milward, who, having watched the meeting with curiosity, now came forward and shook hands with his visitor, making at the same time polite inquiries as to the success of what Mr. Fletcher was in the habit of referring to as the propaganda.

‘Our efforts are bearing fruit,’ said the latter, in his most clerical manner. ‘Among the natives our ministrations have been more particularly blessed.’

‘They would be,’ the Major agreed.

‘In the Waiomo valley more especially,’ Mr. Fletcher went on; ‘Heaven, in its goodness, has seen fit to bless our efforts in the conversion of every man, woman, and child.’

‘What exactly do you imply by conversion?’ Major Milward asked.

‘Conversion,’ replied Mr. Fletcher, ‘is a turning from ways of darkness to those of light.’

Major Milward looked at Geoffrey. ‘This will be good news for you, Mr. Hernshaw,’ he remarked. ‘The Waiomo natives, I think you said, are owing the store some seven hundred pounds.’