Wild, Wild Heart/Chapter 2

Ann had been three days at Tirau, and all was going well. She had lost her first feeling of loneliness and nostalgia, and now was keenly alive to all the interest and fascination of this new environment.

On the fourth day Mrs. Ralston, the wife of one of the neighboring station-owners, had motored over with her three small children soon after lunch, and the little Holmes girls were released from further lessons in order to entertain their guests. So Ann, glad to have a few hours to herself, set off for a walk over the hills towards the back of the run. Most of these hills had long ago been cleared of the primeval forests which had clothed them until fifty or sixty years previously. Now they were pasture land for sheep and cattle. But here and there a clump of glossy-leaved karaka trees gave welcome shade, and the green tops of the mop-headed cabbage-trees rattled in the warm wind. Tall clumps of flax grew in the valleys; and white flowering manuka outlined some of the steeper ridges. There had been more welcome rain during the past few days, and now spurs and gullies were green and fresh in the warm sunshine. After a dry winter and an early rainless spring, the farmers rejoiced in the breaking of the drought; but ​they wanted fine weather for the shearing in the immediate future.

Ann had wandered on for over an hour when she came to a patch of native bush, through which swirled a creek over moss-covered stones. Tree-ferns raised their lacy crowns above the water, and great forest trees—tawa, matai and kahikatea—laced below with hanging vines and undergrowth—pink flowering convolvulus, and white starred clematis—towered overhead. Never had Ann seen such a wealth of varied ferns; and echoing in the damp stillness was the note of the tui, like the song of the thrush and the nightingale in one feathered throat. Ann was loath to leave the cloistered peace of this sequestered spot; but at last, realizing that unless she hurried she would get back too late for the children’s evening meal, she set off to try and find a short cut home. By keeping along the valley and climbing through various tight wire fences—“Lucky I’m no fatter!” thought Ann—she reached a smaller paddock which apparently was empty.

No! As she crossed it she realized that one horse had the entire field to himself. What a splendid looking animal! Soon she must learn to ride! How wonderful to control a creature like that—so beautifully proportioned, so… Suddenly this high-flown rhapsody was rudely interrupted. For—good Heavens! He was charging her! Rushing at her! Screaming at her! No horse she had seen before in all her life had ever behaved like this. In her terrified rush for safety all she could think of was—“He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage.” Wasn’t that something from the Bible having reference to the horse? Until this moment she had looked upon this ​verse as poetic imagery only, now it was more than that. She knew that if this dreadful animal reached her she was doomed. Yet what hope had she of escape? None! The fence was twenty yards away at least. The galloping pounding hoofs were close behind her. Then in a second a miracle happened!

There was a sound like the crack of a rifle, and over the wire fence ahead there came, sailing like a bird, another horse, but this, not riderless. Sharp and quick came the ringing reports of the cracking stock-whip; the galloping hoofs behind her had slackened their pace. Now they were off again, but in retreat.

Ann, realizing that she was still alive, sat down suddenly on a twisted ankle.

After a second Rodney Marsh galloped up to her.

“You little fool!” he shouted furiously. “What made you come in here?”

Ann, looking up at him, fumbling desperately at the back of her mind for an adequately abusive retort, suddenly burst into tears. Oh, how she hated herself for those weak tears! But her ankle was very painful, and after all, when you’ve just come back from the gates of death, to be shouted at and called a little fool, is very difficult to bear. Besides, she knew she was a little fool! That made it worse.

Marsh dismounted, and came close beside her. The sight of her tears had rather nonplussed him. He remained scowling down at her—undecided what to do.

In a moment Ann regained her self-control.

“I didn’t know he’d rush at me in that horrible way,” she said. “I’ve never seen a horse behave like that before.”

​“He’s a stallion,” answered Marsh shortly. “They’re nearly always dangerous.”

“Oh!” said Ann.

She felt, if possible, more foolish than ever. She rose, trying to disguise the fact that it was not very easy to use her wrenched ankle.

“Have you hurt your foot?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said airily, and achieved a somewhat painful smile.

“Get up on my horse.”

“Get up…” repeated Ann. How was she to get up?

Marsh solved the problem by lifting her bodily and swinging her up into the saddle. She sat astride looking down at him, a trifle bewildered by her sudden elevation.

“I suppose you can ride.”

“Of course I can’t. I’ve never been on a horse in my life.”

“Where have you lived then?”

“In a London suburb.”

“Don’t they usually ride there?”

“Certainly not.”

He was annoyed at her tone. It was as though he should have known that people who lived in suburbs didn’t ride.

“You’d better hang on to the front of the saddle then, if you think you’re likely to fall off,” he said curtly.

“It must be wonderful to ride as you do.”

Ann’s voice was soft, her own humiliation quite forgotten as she thought of horse and rider soaring so easily over that wickedly treacherous-looking barrier.

​“I haven’t thanked you yet for saving me—risking your life—jumping barbed wire.”

He gave a short laugh.

“A lot of risk in that! Nigger never makes a mistake over wire. He’s too old a hand at it for that.”

“Do you mean you’ve jumped it before?”

He looked up into her face to see if she was, as he would have put it, “pulling his leg,” but her sweet, candid eyes gazed down at him in genuine amazement.

“Hundreds of times,” he answered.

“It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. You and your horse were like one being—winged for flight.” Suddenly she laughed. “I don’t know how I managed to find time to think all that. I was rather busy just then.”

He looked up again and smiled at her. He was leading Nigger now; walking at the horse’s shoulder. They reached the gate, and he opened it.

“Let me ride through—all by myself,” she said.

Her voice was like a coaxing child. The young man laughed.

“Right you are. Take up the reins. No! not like that. In your left hand. There! that one between those fingers, and this one—so.”

His hands—roughened and soiled, but still well-shaped and sensitive—guided hers.

“Don’t pull on the bridle. You’ll never ride if you pull on a horse’s mouth. Good hands mean everything in a rider.”

“And you have better hands than Mr. Holmes.”

“Who told you that?”

“A little bird told me that.”

“Biddy, I’ll bet. Biddy always barracks for me as ​a rider. But that’s because her Dad says so. What her Dad says is always Gospel truth to Biddy.”

Not “Miss Biddy” then, thought Ann. He was only a servant, after all, this young man, but evidently he had his own ideas of service.

“Well, don’t you agree with Mr. Holmes and… Biddy?”

“Oh, there’s nothing much to choose between us. We’re both good with horses.”

No false pride about him! He didn’t trouble to deny self-evident facts.

“How long have you been here—on this station?” she asked.

“All my life. My father worked for old Holmes when I was just a little nipper.”

“Haven’t you ever been away?”

“Yes, I’ve been to Christchurch and Auckland—saw the Grand National in Christchurch last year.”

“Never out of New Zealand?”

Ah! That was tactless. His face hardened again. “He thinks I’m being patronizing,” she thought swiftly.

“New Zealand’ll do me,” he answered.

Very touchy, this young man! She must choose her phrases more carefully in future.

They passed through the gate, and it was closed behind them.

“Couldn’t I trot, now? Just for a little way—please let me trot.” He looked doubtful. “Oh, perhaps it wouldn’t be good for Nigger, I might hurt him.”

He grinned at this.

“He’s much more likely to hurt you.”

“But that doesn’t matter—one would never learn anything if one were afraid of being hurt.”

​“Aren’t you afraid?”

“I don’t think so—I’ll have to find out. Do let me.”

“What about your foot?”

“Oh, it’s ever so much better: Look!”

She stuck her foot in the stirrup leather above the iron, and leaned her weight on it.

“That scarcely hurts at all now. Mayn’t I go a little faster?”

“All right,” he said grudgingly. “Walk him up to that stump—turn round and trot back to me. And don’t pull him round just with the bridle. Let him feel your knee and the swing of your body. Riding’s mostly balance. No! don’t bother about the stirrups. It’s dangerous putting your feet in the leathers, you’d be dragged if you fell off. Hang on with your knees and if you’re feeling very unsafe catch hold of the front of the saddle.”

She did as she was told—reached the stump, turned round and trotted back to him. It was a very undignified performance. She bumped up and down prodigiously; and alas! she was compelled to cling for safety to the saddle; but she reached him without mishap, flushed and laughing.

Though Rodney Marsh joined in her laughter, she felt no resentment. In fact she showed such sweet and childish gratitude to him for his kindness, that he was obliged to let her repeat the performance—again, and yet again. Then she pleaded to be allowed to canter. Against his better judgment Marsh consented.

Now she was flying towards him, bumping and tossing dangerously. Nigger, unused to this proceeding, took it as a signal to increase his speed. He was going at a hand-gallop as he passed Marsh; and in ​another two seconds Ann, missing the saddle which so far had succeeded in catching her each time she left it, fell in a little heap among the rushes.

Marsh ran forward, but she was already sitting up and laughing at him.

“No, I’m not a bit hurt.” She rose and shook herself. “See! no bones broken. I don’t think I’m even bruised. Falling off is quite easy.”

“So it seems,” said Marsh.

Nigger, who had pulled up directly he had deposited her in the rushes, was now quietly grazing at a little distance. Marsh walked over and caught him by the trailing bridle.

“I suppose I couldn’t try—just once more, could I?” asked Ann. “I’d be safer next time. I know now that one must just sit on tight.”

“Yes, that’s the idea,” agreed Marsh dryly. “You’ve got the hang of it all right. Just sit tight.”

“You’re laughing at me,” said Ann. “Oh well, I suppose I did look idiotic. But I’m going to learn to ride—you wait and see.”

“Yes, but I’m not going to teach you. I oughtn’t to have allowed you to do this today—I’d no business to. What would the boss have said to me if I’d brought you home with a broken neck?”

“It’s Mr. Holmes you’re thinking of, not me?”

“Well, naturally I’d think of him first. I shouldn’t want to upset him.”

Ann laughed.

“You’re certainly frank.”

“No good telling lies about it. He comes first with me—before any one.”

“You’re fond of him?”

“He’s a white man.”

​Ann liked his voice when he said that.

“Well, thank you all the same for the riding lesson,” she said. “I’ll get back now.”

“You can’t walk.”

“Oh, yes, I can. The foot’s all right again. See! It scarcely hurts a scrap. It was only a little bit of a twist I gave it. Just painful at the time—that’s all.”

“You’re not walking,” he said; and quite coolly swung her up into the saddle as he had done before.

“I thought I wasn’t to ride again,” she said mischievously.

“You’re not going to ride,” he answered grimly, “not by yourself. You’re going to be led.”

Ann laughed, but she was quite content to sit astride Nigger while the handsome shepherd, holding the bridle reins over his arm, walked beside her.

Queer that she should feel so much at home with him! He wasn’t a gentleman; not in the sense in which she’d always used the word—not in the sense that Gerald Waring was, for instance. Yet of the two, which man had treated her with the greater courtesy? Certainly Rodney Marsh had spoken roughly and had called her a little fool, but she’d deserved it. She had no right to wander out alone over the hills, ignorant as she was of this sort of life, and of any dangers she might encounter. Women who landed themselves in difficulties and then had to shriek to some man to come and rescue them—risking the man’s life thereby—were idiots—perfectly pernicious idiots. Marsh had certainly pooh-poohed the idea of danger to himself; but, if nothing else, at least she’d been a nuisance to him. She was being a nuisance now—delaying him on his homeward way. Well, she’d try to be particularly nice to make up for it. She’d try never to “conde​scend” to him, as she knew that secretly she did, just a little, “condescend.”

“You’re playing polo in the practice match against Omoana tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“So the boss says.”

“We’re coming down to watch the game—Mrs. Holmes and I, and the children. I believe we’re bringing tea.”

“Ever seen polo?”

“Yes, once or twice at Ranelagh.”

“Huh—Ranelagh!”

She knew from his tone that he’d heard of Ranelagh—that he was thinking she was being “superior” again.

“Why do you say ‘Ranelagh’ like that?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“In that half sneering way.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You evidently think Ranelagh has rather a grand sound, and that I’m trying to be grand in saying I’ve been there.”

“Well, so it is, isn’t it?”

“Grand? Well, it’s a smart sort of club—but lots of people who aren’t a bit smart can get tickets at times. That’s how I went—I’m not at all grand.”

“I didn’t think you were, but I don’t like any one who puts on side.”

“Because I’m perfectly natural, you think I’m ‘putting on side,’ as you call it, when you said you’d been to Christchurch to the Grand National?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t, But I’m not going to argue with you. I’m very grateful to you for what you’ve done for me today, and I want you to believe that.”

He was silent, and after a moment she went on:

​“I’m sorry I was so stupid about… crying when you drove off that… that horrible horse. But I was awfully frightened, and you shouted at me.”

“Well, you ought to have known better than to go into that paddock.”

His tone was still a trifle dogged, but it was distinctly softened.

“How could I know? I’m ignorant of all the things that are just a matter of course to you; but then, on the other hand, I probably know a few things you don’t.”

“Those things aren’t important.”

“Not to you—but to others they are. There’s a pretty big slice of the world outside New Zealand, you know.” Directly the words were spoken, she regretted them. “I’m sorry I said that, but still it’s true. It’s narrow-minded to think that nothing outside your own little experience matters.”

“I’ll be narrow-minded then,”

“Well, I won’t. I’m going to get you to teach me lots of things.”

“Are you? I’m not so sure.”

“I am. You’re obstinate and self-willed, but you’re kind too.”

“You seem to know a lot about me.”

“I do—you’re honest and brave.”

“Anything more?”

“Oh, lots—I’ve only told you the nice things. The others would take too long.”

He laughed. “Obstinate and self-willed! That isn’t very nice, is it? Well, here we are at the stockyard. You’ll have to tell me the rest some other time.”

She shook her head, smiling at him.

“No, we none of us want to be told the bad things. ​What’s the use? If we’re honest, we know them already.” She slid down from the saddle. “Good-by, and thank you… for a very pleasant afternoon.”

She left him standing in front of the garage and made her way up towards the house.

On the polo ground—which was merely a tolerably flat paddock across the river beyond the woolshed—the last spell before tea-time was now in progress.

Holmes, Rodney Marsh, Waring and Bill Ralston, constituted the Tirau team playing against Omoana. The Coast Team—for the Wairiri Tournament in Christmas week—would consist of four of these eight players. This was not polo as played at Ranelagh. Owing to the roughness of the ground it was a great deal more dangerous; and although all the players were magnificent horsemen and strong hitters, some of the ponies were unschooled and green. Waring was the only one of the two teams who was faultlessly turned out in regulation pole kit. Most of the others wore old riding breeches and loose shirts.

About fifty spectators—in cars and buggies drawn up along the boundary line—watched the game, following every stroke and galloping rush of the players with eager interest. A fire had been lighted by Ann and Vera Holmes at a little distance from the cars and nearer the river bank; and two tin billies, blackened by the smoke, were hung above it, gipsy fashion. The referee’s whistle announced half-time, and the sweating ponies were handed over to a few attendant lads to be walked about the field, while the players refreshed themselves with tea.

​“This is a democratic country,” thought Ann; “a country where it is often said that Jack is as good as his master. But is he—in the master’s eyes?” Ann, looking at the two sharply-defined groups during the interval for tea, the group that gathered round the Holmes’s rather shabby car, and that which had for its center the brand new Buick driven by Mrs. Bentley of the Omoana “pub,” answered her own question in the negative. Only one of the polo players was included in Mrs. Bentley’s party—Rodney Marsh.

The upper classes and the lower were as distinctly typified in these two groups, and divided as sharply, as “the gentry” would be in England from those of a less exalted station. But what constituted a claim to “gentility” here? The heritage of gentle birth? Hardly that, for though Holmes and Waring and others were undoubtedly well born, Ralston’s grandfather had been a grocer in a small provincial town in England, while at least two of the wealthiest sheep-farmers now enjoying Vera Holmes’s excellent cakes and sandwiches had sprung from almost illiterate parents.

“A good education, a profession, or the ownership of land,” thought Ann. “But particularly the ownership of land. Perhaps that’s the way in which all aristocracies arise—perhaps there is some virtue in the possession of estates far outweighing the mere ownership of money.” But her spirit rebelled a little against the knowledge that the young man with whom she’d talked quite frankly and happily the day before, was outside the charmed circle of the elect!

She was standing a little apart from the others—waiting near the camp fire for the second billy to boil—when Waring approached her. He put his hand ​into the pockets of his white cord riding-breeches, and held out a penny on his open palm.

She shook her head, smiling at him.

“I don’t sell my thoughts,” she said. “Not for so little as that, at any rate.”

It was not the first time they had met this afternoon, and she was conscious that the resentment she had felt towards him during that little scene in the schoolroom five days previously, had evaporated. What had dispelled it? His good looks, his daring horsemanship, the interest he excited in practically all the women present, or his carefully veiled, but none the less persistent pursuit of her? Ann, being honest, knew that all these things had influenced her, but the last of them more potently than all the others. She told herself that she was a vain little flirt, but that didn’t prevent her from smiling into the rather insolent, sleepy-lidded eyes which looked at her so steadily when he was quite sure they happened to be unobserved.

Ann now labored under no delusions as to his intentions. He was quite willing to make love to her, but he was not going to run the risk of having the flirtation discovered by others. “He’s used to this kind of thing,” thought Ann, “the professional philanderer. He’s probably made love to every woman in the district before now.”

She ought to have resented the boldly expressed admiration in his eyes, but she didn’t. She was quite confident of being able to deal with him now; the awkwardness she had felt during their interview in the schoolroom had disappeared. Playing with fire, as a pastime probably began with Eve, but Ann imagined herself warranted fireproof. So she remained ​for a few moments talking and laughing with Waring until the billy boiled, and he carried it back to Mrs. Holmes, who was dispensing tea.

But in spite of the fact that Rodney Marsh was not included in the party “above the salt”—or, perhaps, because of that fact—Ann was determined not to leave the polo ground without having had a word or two with him. He shouldn’t have cause to think that her frankly given comradeship of the day before meant nothing; and an opportunity to speak to him was provided for her by Mrs. Holmes, who at the close of the match sent the governess to collect the little girls from the other end of the ground.

Biddy and Jo were as usual amongst the ponies and the attendant grooms (though these were unofficial grooms, being Maori boys, shepherds, lads from the small milking farms, and others) and Jo was dancing round Rodney, exclaiming:

“Biddy’s not going to ride Playboy home—I am. You promised me—you know you did!”

“You’re neither of you going to ride,” said Ann. “You’re to run along to the car at once.”

There was a slight argument, but eventually they set off towards their mother, and Ann was for a moment alone with Marsh.

“I hope I didn’t give Nigger a sore back yesterday,” she said.

“I don’t think he noticed you were there,” he answered.

“I wasn’t—part of the time,” she replied, and they both laughed.

“Rod, we’re waiting for you!” Mrs. Bentley’s voice came sharply from the driver’s seat of the Buick.

In the back of the car sat her brother, Jack Smith—​the young man who had chaffed Rodney about the “old school ma’am” on the day of Ann’s arrival.

“Don’t be all night! Come along,” the woman called impatiently.

“Right you are—I’m ready.”

Rodney Marsh lifted his hat to Ann, climbed up beside Mrs. Bentley, and the Omoana car moved swiftly off.

Biddy turned to look over her shoulder and called:

“Mummy’s waving to us to hurry, Miss Merrill!”

“Yes, wait for me.”

Conscious of a curious sense of discomfiture, Ann was glad of Biddy’s outstretched hand. She had believed the young man might feel slighted if she took no notice of him! Well, she had enough sense of humor to smile at her own expense, but the smile was a little rueful. He was superbly indifferent to her notice, or her neglect! Ann recognized that this was true, and was annoyed with herself because she was not altogether free from a sense of chagrin. But to have “condescended” and to find the recipient of the condescension profoundly unconscious of it, and unmoved by the honor, is always a trifle galling.

“Rodney goes over to stay at Omoana every Saturday night,” chattered Biddy. “Emily says he goes on the spree. Dan’s going to take his ponies home.”

Ann felt disgusted with herself. Why bother her head about an ignorant young man who “went on the spree?” But what a picture he was! Who could resist the temptation of looking twice at this shepherd with the proud head and the beautiful physique of a Grecian statue come to life?

Evidently Mrs. Bentley couldn’t, thought Ann drily.

Ann had to give the little girls their evening meal as soon as they reached home.

“I know you won’t mind having something with them,” said Vera Holmes, “We’ll be such a crowd in the dining-room.”

Ann didn’t mind in the least. She would rather be with the children than with so many strangers.

Bill Ralston and his wife and her sister, Nell Brunton, Waring, and three members of the Omoana Polo Team, Kent, Ganthorne and Stafford, had all returned to Tirau to dinner. Sam Stafford was the only married member of the Omoana trio, and his wife, Mabel, was with him.

“We’ll probably dance or play bridge or something in the smoking-room afterwards; so as soon as the children are in bed you could come in and join us if you liked. But for goodness’ sake keep those wretched infants out of the way. They’re such a nuisance when visitors are here.”

Ann had soon learned that the one supreme duty expected of her was that of “keeping the children out of the way.”… She was far more nurse than governess; but if Mrs. Holmes asked her to perform duties in connection with the children’s clothes, meals, and general well-being, which she might not have been required to undertake in England, her employer at any rate seemed to be quite willing to include her in all the social life of the station and the neighborhood.

Vera Holmes was still a puzzle to Ann—but a fascinating puzzle. For though at times she was irritable and inconsiderate and subject to sudden fits of ​temper, yet something—that impression Ann had received at first of an unhappy tormented soul—seemed to rouse in the younger woman a curious sense of sympathy. And like the little girl who had the curl right down the middle of her forehead, when Vera Holmes was good, she was very, very good. No one could be more delightful, or more charming or more amusing than Vera Holmes in a good mood. But Vera in a bad mood! Even the children had learnt to recognize the storm signals and to give Mummy a wide berth at such times.

But Ann’s sympathy and liking for Mrs. Holmes did not blind her to the fact that probably of the two, Dick Holmes was more to be pitied. He quite evidently worshiped the turbulent-tempered woman he had married, and she hurt him daily in a score of ways. Her attitude towards the children, her selfishness towards him, her dislike of the country, were continual pin-pricks. But nothing alienated his affection. Ann was sure of this. Perhaps he found consolation in the fervent devotion of the two little girls who were his tireless champions. Daddy to them was the most humorous and most gifted, and most omnipotent and adorable of all mankind. He was rather adorable—Ann agreed with them to a certain extent here. He was so genuine, and so kind. Perhaps not so all-powerful as the children believed him. His gentleness of disposition would for ever make it impossible for him to act the strong, silent man, but he wasn’t lacking in character. Ann, trying to sort out her impressions, decided that though no one could describe him as effeminate, he had a good deal of the woman in him. The little girls didn’t so much mind if Mummy failed to come and say “good night” to ​them, but if for any reason Daddy didn’t turn up—that indeed was a just cause for complaint! But they were seldom forgotten by their father.

Tonight Ann had found them troublesome. If they weren’t “out of hand,” as they put it, they were remarkably near to being so. They were excited, and declined to settle down. Well, if they couldn’t go out and talk to the grown-ups, they’d have a pillow-fight. No! Ann forbade the pillow-fight; they were to be quiet. Well, they’d play quoits on the veranda. No, they were to stay in bed and go to sleep.

Ann knew she couldn’t leave them while they were in this restless state, and from the open windows of the smoking-room she could hear the music of the gramophone, and the sound of laughter. They were dancing there! Ann’s little silver shoes beat time to the music. She was already in her white evening gown. Oh, why wouldn’t the children go to sleep and release her from duty? She would love to dance. But she realized that in all probability she would be kept here for hours. On other nights when they had been wakeful they had given her their promise not to leave their beds, but tonight she could extract no promise from them.

“Then I must stay here,” she said, and took up a book to read. But they wouldn’t even let her do that. They were very unkind and naughty children, she told them.

They agreed.

“We have to be naughty sometimes, we can’t help it. I have a black dog that comes and sits on my left shoulder. He’s called Ponko. And Jo’s black dog is Bronko.”

​“He’s bigger than yours,” said Jo. “Bronko’s as big as Playboy.”

“Ponko’s as big as an elephant.”

The black dogs grew in size. Bother the little wretches and their black dogs!

“May we come in?” Holmes with another man stood in the doorway.

Instantly black dogs of titanic statue were forgotten in shrieks of:

“Daddy, come and sit on my bed!”

“No, you sat on Jo’s last night.”

“I’m not going to sit on anybody’s bed,” said their father grimly. “I’m going to spank you both good and hard, if you don’t behave yourselves. You’ve kept Miss Merrill here for nearly two hours. A pair of obnoxious children, that’s what you are.”

“Noxious weeds like briars and blackberries,” observed Biddy.

“Yes, pests to the sheep-farmer—to one sheep-farmer anyhow.”

“Not you, Daddy. Now don’t tell stories. You love us.”

“When you’re good I can put up with you.”

“Oh, Biddy’s a noxshus weed!” exclaimed Jo triumphantly. “Biddy-biddys are awful things. Miss Merrill got them all stuck over her skirt, didn’t you, Miss Merrill?—and if it gets in the sheep’s wool it’s puffectly terrible———”

“Jo, be quiet! Daddy’s going to tell us a story.”

“Who says he is?” asked Holmes.

“I say so,” said Biddy.

“So do I,” said Jo.

Waring had moved forward from the doorway.

“Come and dance, Miss Merrill.”

​She hesitated.

“Go along,” said Holmes. “I’ll see to these little devils.”

“Daddy, you’re being very rude to your beautiful children, isn’t he, Jo?”

“Damned rude,” said Jo.

“Now! Now! That’s not allowed,” said Holmes.

But unfortunately both Jo and Biddy had seen that their elders were laughing, and so they laughed too.

“You said devils,” Joe defended herself. “Damned’s out of the Bible too. It means ‘condemned’—that’s all. Miss Hildred told us one day when you said it.”

“Waring, take Miss Merrill off before she gives me notice. No self-respecting governess should be called upon to listen to such horrible and depraved little girls!”

(They hated being called “little girls” by him—youngsters, kids, children, devils—anything was better than “little girls”!)

“So namby-pamby!” said Biddy.

Ann, nothing loath, went off with Waring to the smoking-room. Waring danced well, and even knew the Charleston. Ann was surprised. Well, she needn’t be, he told her. He’d been in London less than a year ago. But when the dance ended, and he wanted her to walk down the garden with him as far as the tennis court, Ann said: No, she’d spoil her shoes; and so they sat in two deck-chairs on the veranda.

But it was not her feet that Ann was anxious about. It was her head. She didn’t want to lose it. She had realized during the dance that it might not be quite so easy to play with fire as she had thought during the afternoon. Discretion was the better part of valor. She was here as governess, and as governess—a quite ​prudent, well-behaved governess—she meant to stay. She didn’t really care a straw for Waring, and she didn’t flatter herself that he was in any way serious as far as she herself was concerned. But he was—disturbing. He meant to be. It was easy to drift into a flirtation, but with a man like Gerald Waring it might not prove quite so easy to find one’s moorings again. Yes, the veranda was decidedly safer. And when Mrs. Holmes appeared in the lighted french windows of the smoking-room, she was glad she had not chosen even the smallest rush-light to play with; for in Vera Holmes’s voice was a sharp note that Ann had learnt to know quite well. So far, it hadn’t been directed against her—not until this moment. No one else might have sensed anything of irritation in Mrs. Holmes’s tone. But Ann was quick. The elder woman didn’t seem altogether pleased that she had appeared amongst the dancers. Ann realized in this moment that her employer would not be likely to tolerate any flirtation carried on by “the governess.” Well, Mrs. Holmes should be given no cause for disapproval, decided Ann.

“I wish you’d get me some aspirin, Miss Merrill. I’ve got an awfully bad head. There’s a bottle on my dressing-table, or in the medicine chest, or somewhere in my room. And bring a glass of water from the dining-room, will you?”

“Yes, of course.”

Ann rose quite cheerfully to do as she was asked, and passed down the lighted hall to Mrs. Holmes’s bedroom. The women’s wraps were in this room—the men had used Holmes’s room opposite in which to change. Ann understood that Mrs. Holmes was a bad sleeper. She walked in her sleep sometimes, and had ​warned Ann not to be surprised if she entered her room unexpectedly in the dark.

“Just lead me back to bed if I’m still asleep. I may wake up quite naturally; but don’t be frightened and scream at me.”

Searching now with a lighted candle on the dressing-table for the aspirin, Ann noticed that the french windows leading to the eastern veranda were open.

“I wonder if she leaves them open all night,” she thought. “Not very safe if she’s inclined to wander.” But the wire screens were closed. “Perhaps she has some way of fastening those.”

It was some time before Ann found the aspirin and got the water from the dining-room; and when she returned to the veranda Mrs. Holmes was there alone. She was sitting in the shadow with her hand over her eyes. For a moment Ann thought she had been crying. Then she dismissed such a foolish idea.

“How does the head feel now?” she asked.

“Perfectly rotten,” answered Vera. “Neuralgia, I think. I suppose I shan’t sleep a wink tonight.”

She took the aspirin, and swallowed it.

Ann hesitated for a moment beside her.

“Were you displeased with me for dancing, Mrs. Holmes?” she said.

“No, of course not. What makes you ask that?”

There was a queer harsh note in the elder woman’s voice.

“I don’t want to displease you,” went on Ann. “I’m happy here, and I want to stay.”

“Why?”

“Because I love this kind of life. It fascinates me—and I’m fond of the children and… and of you.”

​“I don’t think I’ve done much to make you fond of me.”

“Do you think it’s what people do that makes you fond of them? I think it’s what they are.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Mrs. Holmes said abruptly:

“And what do you think I am?”

Ann hesitated.

“It’s difficult to put what I feel into words. I know I don’t really understand you—you’re too… too complex to grasp quickly. That’s what makes you so interesting.”

Mrs. Holmes laughed.

“You’re a quaint child. And are others—the Ralstons, Mr. Waring, Dick—are they complex too?”

“Oh no—they’re much easier to understand.”

“Well explain them. I didn’t know we had such a famous judge of character here. What about the Ralstons?”

“I’ve only just met them. I think they’re jolly, good-hearted, healthy-minded sort of people. But I haven’t thought much about them.”

“Really! And Mr. Waring?”

Ann was silent.

“Have you thought much about him? Does he interest you?”

“Yes, in a way. Am I being impertinent, talking about your friends like this?”

“Not at all. You’re amusing. Go on with your analysis.”

She took out a cigarette, and lit it.

“He’s attractive, but he’s… selfish.”

“All men are selfish.”

“Oh no,” said Ann quickly, “Mr. Holmes isn’t. ​He’s very unselfish. He’d always sacrifice himself for any one he loved.”

“For me, for instance?”

“Of course. But he’s kind to every one, I think. Rodney Marsh calls him ‘a white man.’ ”

“When did you see Rodney Marsh?”

“Yesterday, when I was walking out at the back of the run. I twisted my ankle a little and he helped me home. Let me ride his horse.”

“Really.”

Mrs. Holmes obviously wasn’t interested in the head-shepherd.

“Mr. Holmes has told me I may have a horse to ride—all of my own—while I’m here. Isn’t it good of him?”

“You must ride if you take the children out.”

Ann felt that Mrs. Holmes was no longer paying much attention to the conversation. The Ralstons came out to say “good night”; and Ann thought it might be more tactful on her part if she slipped away to bed.

But she couldn’t sleep at once. She had been excited by her day. By new scenes and new faces, and perhaps more than a little by Gerald Waring. She tried not to think of him. In her heart of hearts she knew he wasn’t worth thinking about, and that the interest he excited in her—that he deliberately endeavored to excite—was not a very healthy interest. For it had in it an element of baseness. And he was not troubled with scruples as far as women were concerned. His manner made that plain enough. She ​hoped he wouldn’t come often to Tirau. He was staying tonight, but leaving early in the morning. He had told her he was beginning his mustering next day for the shearing at Kopu.

Ann dozed for an hour or two, only to wake perfectly convinced that for the rest of the night she would sleep no more. She struck a match, and looked at her watch. Well, it was nearly three, and the night was over. Why not get up and see the day break over the dew-wet paddocks and the dim quiet hills? She loved the dawn, but she was usually too sleepy and too lazy to leave her bed at sunrise. Now she would have the mystery of the waking world all to herself, and she would see this new strange land in a new and lovely way. Suddenly a longing possessed her to watch the sun come up from the sea. How wonderful the line of foaming breakers rolling in from the wide Pacific would look in the mysterious dawn. It was less than two miles beyond the woolshed and the river to the beach. She could cross the swing bridge down by the sheep yards, and walk in the pale light of the coming day across the paddocks to the sandhills, and the sea.

She rose and dressed, and passed out without a sound across her veranda into the garden. The stars were still bright, and there was a faded moon. A little breeze moved through the trees. Surely the dawn was late in breaking? And then suddenly Ann remembered that her watch had been put forward to station time, which was an hour ahead of town time. Only about two o’clock then, instead of three! How stupid of her! She had rounded the front of the house, and was on the eastern side when this realization came to her. She stopped. What should she do? Return ​to her room and read for another hour, or go on? But as she hesitated she was suddenly aware that some one else was in the garden not far away from her. Along the path towards the veranda a shadowy form was passing. For a second Ann believed that she had been seen, and recognized, for the figure halted and stood rigid, then turned from the house, and with uncertain steps came forward. As the moonlight shone on the advancing woman’s face, Ann knew that it could only be by chance that the draped figure stumbled towards the spot where she was standing; for Vera Holmes’s eyes were closed. She was walking in her sleep.

Ann had been warned of this, but it was her first vision of a sleep-walker; and in the shadowy garden where the tree-tops whispered eerily under the stars, the sight was uncanny, and more than a little terrifying. Quickly into her mind flashed remembrance of what Mrs. Holmes had said when discussing her insomnia. “Don’t wake me—lead me back to bed.” Mastering her fear, Ann took the figure by the arm, very gently, so that she might not waken the sleeper, and together they moved slowly towards the house. Would she be able to mount to the veranda, Ann wondered? Yes! After a moment’s hesitation Vera Holmes’s slippered foot had found the step, and they were together near the bedroom window. Ann could feel beneath her hand the woman’s arm shaking as if with ague—all her body under the silk wrapper was trembling. Then all at once she seemed to waken. Her eyes opened, and she stared at Ann in terror. Something in the wild eyes moved Ann’s heart to a sharp pity. She took the trembling figure in her strong young arms, and held her tight.

​“Don’t be frightened,” she said. “It’s only me—Ann Merrill—you were walking in your sleep. It’s all right now.”

Then suddenly, she knew that on her shoulder Vera Holmes was sobbing; and she soothed her as she would have soothed a child.

“Hush! Hush! Don’t cry! Come back with me! Into your room—to bed.”

She pulled wide the wire-screened door, and led the wanderer through, felt for the bed, and soon had wrapped the blankets tightly round the weeping woman whose distress she longed to comfort.

“Shall I light the lamp?”

“No, no,” said Vera Holmes.

“Very well—lie still. There’s nothing to be frightened of. How lucky that I met you. You might have wandered down into the paddocks. Are you warmer now?”

“Yes, go back to your room———”

“I don’t like to leave you.”

“I’m all right now.”

Her voice was more controlled and steady.

“Was I walking in my sleep?”

“Yes.”

“It was good of you to help me.” The shivering and the sobbing were abating. “Why were you out there—just then?”

“I thought the dawn was breaking and I was wakeful. I wanted to see the sunrise.”

“The dawn? But it’s too early for the dawn.”

“I know—I forgot that my watch was set at station time.”

“It’s only just after two by town time, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

​“Go back to your room. I’m sure I shall sleep now.”

“Wouldn't you rather I stayed with you for a little while?”

“No—not now—I know I’ll sleep.”

“Good night then.”

“Good night.”

Back in her own room Ann lay down for half an hour, waiting for the dawn to break. But she did not see it. She fell asleep instead. Yet on the edge of dreamland she was conscious of some question she had meant to ask. Some little explanation she had wanted. What was it? Never mind! It couldn’t be of any importance.

She was sleeping soundly when Emily entered with her morning tea.