page 56

Chapter V
Bang!

Next morning Mr Campbell took David Mackay over the river, and Nan, Pipi, and I went down to the ford to see them cross.

After the storm of the night before the country seemed so fresh and sweet and new-born. A delicate blue haze lay over the mountains, but it was lifting, and here and there ragged peaks showed like islands in a sea of mist. Somewhere in their depths lay hidden the wonderful valley, where the sun shone always, where a little stream, like a silver streak, went singing through a green land, where the rocks were of pure gold, and wide-eyed flowers star-spangled the grass. Soon David Mackay would be lost to us, and enter that strange land. I longed to go with him, and I think, perhaps, he knew it, for he turned to me before he left.

"You would like to see my valley?" he asked, smiling at me. "Well, who knows, some day you may find it for yourself. Good-bye, lassie. I'll look out for you some time."

He mounted his horse, and rode into the stream, page 57an upright old fellow, following still the call of the unknown.

"He will go over little Ararat Pass, past Jordan, and then up the Valley of Sharon," Nan said, wistfully, and it sounded so like Travels in Palestine or Tales from Bible Lands that I laughed. But the wonder of the mountains and the thought of the hidden valley were never far from me after that.

Uncle Stephen drove us home later in the day. Nan rode as far as the first plantation with us, then turned her horse in the direction of Kinloch again.

"Poor little soul! It is a lonely life for her," Uncle Stephen said. "I'm glad you have made friends with her, Ngaire. I do not think Nan has ever had a friend before."

"Uncle," I said, plunging into the subject which interested me most, "do you know the wonderful valley?"

Uncle looked at me, smiling.

"You've been talking to David Mackay," he said. "He's a queer old fellow, half poet, half mystic, and the rest pure prospector. He travels with the Bible and Homer in his pack, and he knows the Apocalypse by heart. No, Ngaire, I've never seen the valley, but I've no doubt there is such a spot, though I hardly think it is all David says it is. You must make some page 58allowance for the fact that he is a mystic, and some for the poet in him. But David knows the mountains as no one else does, and I've no doubt there is such a spot."

"He says it is quite close—near Jordan," I said. I was glad Uncle believed in the valley too, and I was not surprised that he knew David Mackay—half poet, half mystic, and the rest pure prospector, though I wondered how there could be any 'rest' when he was half and half already.

We found Jock quite safe after his drive home with Uncle Dan and Kathie. He had not fallen out of the gig, nor had the seat given way and let the other two down on top of him. He had recovered from his encounter with the engagement ring too. Kathie, however, was somewhat depressed, and it was only when Uncle Dan persuaded her that she consented to lend a hand with the Christmas preparations and try for a 'pass' in poultry.

It was unfortunate that Pipi and I lent a hand too, and undertook to make konini jam. Koninis are little black berries which grow on the wild fuchsia-tree. They taste rather like the rose-water and glycerine mixture Kathie puts on her hands to soften them after 'culinary operations.' There are quantities of them in a sheltered spot near one of the water-races at Kamahi. Jan thought that konini jam would be a novelty, and page 59nice for Christmas. The koninis were not ripe yet, but Jan said that wouldn't make any difference. Mrs McPherson made green gooseberry jam, why shouldn't we make red konini? Koninis are red before they turn black, you know. But you can't make jam out of unripe koninis; you should have tasted ours.

Mrs McPherson would not hear of our cluttering up the kitchen. She said, rather pointedly, with a look at Kathie, that one at a time was enough, and she wanted a little space for the maids. She was really quite disagreeable about it, and she hasn't left off talking yet about the saucepan we borrowed. It did get a bit black, but it was not a new one, and anyway a little black never hurt any saucepan. That is what they are for.

The idea was Jan's, and she helped us pick the koninis, and borrowed the saucepan and the spoon. Uncle Stephen, however, left a book on the deck-chair on the veranda and Jan wanted to see what he was reading, and if it were suitable for him. That was the end of Jan. Why, we might have cooked all the koninis in the garden in a gigantic saucepan, and boiled ourselves as well, and she would not have cared. She did, not even look up when we left her. She never heard what we said about her. She never noticed the shed when it——

page 60

But I anticipate, as real, true, grown-up books say sometimes.

We made a nice little fire in a corner of the big paddock by the plantation. Jock started the blaze, and we put in the koninis and some sugar and water, and sat and watched them as they floated about like tight little red balls. We stoked and stoked and stoked, and stirred and stirred and stirred, but still they would not burst. And when they did—oh! In all my life I have never tasted anything quite so horrible. Jock coughed, Pipi choked, and I made such a grimace that my face has hardly gone straight yet.

"It—wants sugar," Pipi spluttered at last. "It tastes awful, Ngaire."

"It tastes awfuller than awful. And it's smoked too."

"That's only the koninis. They always taste like that. Say, Skinny, you go and ask Mrs McPherson for some more sugar."

"You go yourself," I suggested. "You should have heard her last time I took some. She said she'd tell Uncle John. You go, Jock."

"Not much!"

Oh, why didn't we leave it at that? Why did we bother about that horrible, horrible jam? It would have poisoned us anyway if we had tried to eat it.

Pipi said she would slip over to the store where page 61the uncles kept the flour and sugar and tea in hundredweights. Jock and I decided to accompany her. I felt that if I sat and looked at that jam any longer I should be ill. Yet I did not want to abandon the attempt altogether.

"With heaps of sugar it might be all right," I said.

We ran over the grass toward the store, but found it locked. There was no hope there. Pipi looked thoughtful.

"There's the little store,' she said. "I heard Uncle John say something to Uncle Dan about moving some stuff in there. And Uncle Dan said it would be a dashed nuisance. Let's try that."

We slipped over the tussocks. The little store was a new shed, which the uncles had recently erected, and which was always kept locked. Today, however, the door was open, and we entered. It was a poky, ill-lighted place, filled with tins and boxes in just the places where they could do most damage. I bumped myself rather badly, and Pipi knocked both her funny-bones against a sharp corner.

"Look out!" she gasped. "You're getting in my way."

We groped around, looking for sugar, but though Pipi struck a match, and then another, we could discover nothing which looked like a page 62sugar-sack. It seemed that Uncle Dan had not moved the stores yet.

"He's too lazy," Pipi said, disgustedly. She still felt her funny-bones. "It's no good huntin' any longer. I'm going. It's stuffy here."

Jock poked his head in at the door, and we jumped.

"Uncle Dan's coming," he said, warningly.

Pipi and I did not wait; indeed, we nearly tumbled over each other getting out of the door. Pipi led the way, and we went over the tussocks again in the direction of the jam factory.

"Uncle John wouldn't mind," Pipi said, as we reached the haven in safety, and smelt the smell of our konini jam. "He'd let us have all the sugar we wanted. But Uncle Dan's different. He thinks too jolly much of himself."

The jam had been cooking merrily during our absence; indeed, it had boiled so hard that what was not all over the place was stuck to the bottom of the saucepan. It looked just a little worse than before, but how it tasted I don't know. We did not sample it."

"We could make some more," I suggested, looking at the mixture doubtfully.

"Without sugar. How can you make jam without sugar, silly? "

"I wonder what Mrs McPherson will say when page 63she sees the saucepan? " Jock remarked cheerfully. "I expect it's her best one."

This is just what I was thinking, but though we scrubbed and scrubbed till we were as black as pots ourselves the saucepan still looked very much the worse for wear.

"Mrs McPherson always will keep everything so shiny. I don't see why. Saucepans aren't meant to be shiny,' Pipi said snappily.

"It doesn't look so bad now. Sand cleans saucepans when they're burnt. Couldn't we——"

"I'm not going to make mud pies. So there! Mrs McPherson won't miss it. She's got hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of saucepans all in a row."

"She loves this one best of all," I said sadly, and knew it was true. Mrs McPherson would love the saucepan we had taken best of all. " Pipi, I'm going to give it one more scrub. I'll boil some water in it. Where are the matches?"

"I don't know, silly. They're—I dropped them in the shed. I'll run over and get them. I—why—Oh! What's that? "

She started off over the paddock, but she did not go far; she did not get the matches. And it was as well she stopped. Even now my heart stands still for a minute, and then leaps chokingly into my throat when I think of it. Very suddenly a roar like all the guns in the world going page 64off together broke into the silence, and over by the slope the little brown store in the tussocks rose terrifyingly into the air, and then fell in pieces on the ground.

"Oh! " gasped Jock.

Pipi and I didn't say anything. We just stood where we were, paralysed with horror. You have heard of people being 'rooted to the ground.' Well, that was what we were—rooted. We were planted just as firmly as if we had been young pinetrees, or fuchsia-bushes stuck all over with konini berries. Then we saw Uncle Dan running from the stables, Uncle Stephen coming from the house, Mrs McPherson and Kathie rushing from the kitchen, and an excited crowd appearing from everywhere. Quite suddenly our roots loosened and we found ourselves going in the opposite direction—quite in the opposite direction to every one else. "The nest!" gasped Pipi.

We ran swiftly through the plantation. In one of the big pine-trees we had made a lovely hidingplace, where we played Swiss Family Robinson. The nest was right at the top of the highest tree, and no one would think of looking for us there. Pipi reached the tree first, and went up the trunk like a monkey in a hurry. I followed more awkwardly. Jock, thinking he heard some one, attacked another tree, and found refuge on a leafy branch.

page break page 65

At first we could only sit and look at each other, our hearts thumping, our mouths open our eyes nearly tumbling out of our heads. At last Pipi found words.

"I wonder—how we did it?" she said.

That was just what I was thinking, but it was a question I could not answer. Somehow or other we knew we were responsible for the tragedy, and we felt that anything, anywhere, as far from the uncles as we could get was best We would have hopped over the mountains had it been possible, and it was only luck that Pipi had not gone up with the shed.

We sat in that tree, and we sat and sat and sat till we felt like little birds, and almost grew wings and twittered. Still, when I thought of the shed lying in pieces all over the place I felt that I could spend the rest of my life in the nest, provided, of course, that Uncle John remained at the bottom of the tree.

The afternoon drew in, and the shadows lengthened The birds flew round, regarding us wondenngly. Soon our absence would be remarked upon, and questions asked.

"We'd better go," Pipi said dismally.

Without another word she rose and scrambled slowly down the trunk. I followed her, and Jock appeared, like Prince Charlie, from his leafy bower. He looked at us.

page 66

"We'll go up too. Uncle John'll blow us higher than the shed," he remarked solemnly.

We went slowly through the plantation, and out on to the lawn. Over in the tussocks, where the shed had been, we could see Uncle John, and two or three of the men. Pipi looked at Uncle, and turned to me.

"He'll burst when he hears," she said.

"If only he doesn't get excited. Uncle John always gets so excited. I wonder how it happened? It might have gone off by itself. Sheds sometimes do," I argued, but Pipi shook her head.

"Not the uncles' sheds. They don't keep the blowing-up kind. They only go off bang when we're here," she added, sadly.

Jan was on the veranda when we reached the house. Her hair was shining, her jumper fresh, and she looked at us with conscious superiority.

"You'd better go and get tidy for tea," she warned us. "Have you heard? The little store's been blown up, and Uncle Stephen's angry and Uncle John's just raging. I wonder who did it? I don't envy him. I'd sooner face a mad bull than Uncle John when he's really angry. I'd sooner face a paddock full of mad bulls, all with their heads down and their tails up. There'll be a big row," finished Jan, with relish.

She paused, and regarded her shoes pensively.

page 67

"Perhaps I'd better change them," she suggested. "They're shabby, and Uncle Stephen would notice a hole in a back tooth to-day. He's in that mood. A whole lot of stuff went up with the shed, and it upset him a bit—as much as it did the shed," said Jan, with a giggle.

"Jan," I said, "Jan——"

"He says he's going to get to the root of the matter," Jan remarked cheeringly, and the root of the matter, which was Jock and Pipi and I, stared back at her, and felt that the last day had come.

I looked to left; I looked to right. No uncle was in sight.

"Jan!" I said, in a whisper. "Jan, we did it,"

You should have seen Jan. If it hadn't been so serious I could have laughed. Her eyes nearly tumbled out of her head, and she looked at me in a kind of unbelieving horror. She was still staring, and trying to find words, when Uncle Dan swung round the corner of the house. He crossed over to us.

"Well," he said, "what are you going to do about it?"

We were past surprise by now, so we just looked at Uncle, wondering what would happen next.

"Every moment makes it worse," he said, slowly and with terrible emphasis. "Sooner or page 68later you'll have to own up. If you tell him to-night hell only skin you alive. If you wait till to-morrow he'll probably serve you up for dinner as well."

He was as cheering as Jan. There seemed to be no difference of opinion regarding our fate.

"How did you know—why——"I began.

"I happened to see you round the shed some time before the explosion. But I suppose Pipi knows all about it. What did she do? Light a fire under a benzine-tin?"

"Benzine!" I cried. "Was there benzine in trashed? "

"Just a little," Uncle answered, grimly. "How did it happen. You had better tell me."

"I don't know. We went in to have a look, and then Jock—saw—saw you, and we dropped the matches, and——"

"Matches!" cried Uncle, while sudden, fearful comprehension dawned upon Jock, Pipi, and me. "Matches! I suppose they were alight? "

"Only one," Pipi answered, indignantly.

"Only one. She only dropped one lighted match, and a box full of live ones. I wouldn't be in your shoes for something, young lady."

"Anyway, she might have gone up with the shed. We all might," I said, feeling there was something to be thankful for, after all. Uncle sighed.

page 69

"Not Pipi," he remarked. "Nothing could happen to Pipi—only the good die young. Pipi," said Uncle sadly, "will live to be a hundred." He looked at us, and suddenly his voice was very kind.

"Look here, kids," he advised, "I'd own up. I'll see you through. Break it gently."

Uncle John was just coming in to dinner, and though we would willingly have put the confession off for an hour or more, we broke it gently. Jock said:

"Uncle John, we blew up the shed."

Uncle John was really alarming. He looked at us, and struggled for words. He seemed swelling before our eyes, and just as we thought he was going to burst he roared out in a terrible voice:

"Who Left the Key in the Lock?"

No one answered. That was the one thing we had not done, and we felt relief at the turn affairs were taking. At last Uncle Dan spoke. He said, very gently, as if he did not want to hurt anyone:

"I believe you did, didn't you."

Uncle John was speechless; he really was. He looked at Jock; he looked at Pipi; he looked at me. He withered Jan with a glance, and took in Uncle Dan with a glare. Then, just as we were wondering what was going to happen next, quite suddenly and most unexpectedly he broke page 70into a laugh. We laughed too, in a weak, relieved way, just to keep him company, though Pipi said afterward that she was really scared to death. She thought he had gone mad.

"So I did. So I did. Ha! Ha!" laughed Uncle John in a big bass voice.

"He! He!" we followed, hoping we were doing the right thing, but hardly able to believe in our good fortune. "Pipi dropped lighted matches in the shed. She had been exploring it. It explains the fire, but what I cannot understand is——"

"How it happened?" Jan added, helping things along, in an easy, natural way.

"Pipi — dropped — matches — in the — shed" Uncle looked at us, and our knees went weak again. "I naturally expected some excitement these holidays, but I hardly looked forward to losing a hundred pounds the first fortnight."

"It blew itself up. I didn't know there was blowing-up stuff there. I—I——"Pipi sobbed, breaking down all at once. I saw Uncle's face soften, and he drew her to him, and patted her golden head.

"You must never go near the sheds again," he said. "Ngaire should have known better, and Jock too. They had no business there either, and they should not have let you go. However, we'll say no more about it," finished Uncle, page 71while Jock and I gasped. Uncle doesn't know Pipi. Why, all the king's horses and all the king's men could not keep her from doing anything she really wanted to do.

We slipped away soon after this, leaving the uncles still discussing the matter. Jan stayed to hear the finish of it all, but Jock, Pipi, and I were only too glad to get away. We never wanted to hear of sheds or benzine again as long as we lived. We were quite exhausted, and even Pipi was glad to slip into a chair in the nursery. She eyed the tea with appreciation.

"Blowing up things makes me hungry," she announced.

She paused. Our troubles were not over—not yet. Some one came into the room. Some one looked at us sternly.

"What have you done with my saucepan? " asked Mrs McPherson.