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Chapter XIII.
A Native Thief.

In going out to work in the thick bush, Eric took the precaution to remove his watch chain from his watch in case it might get caught among the brushwood and be broken, and left it lying openly on his pillow. It was there when they came to the whare for dinner, and remained there when they went to work—all three of them saw it, but when they returned at the close of their first day's toil as woodsmen it had disappeared.

“There must be someone about this place,” concluded James.

“I have heard,” replied Eric, “that the natives are very fond of any glittering article. But surely no thief would be satisfied with merely taking that watch chain; there are other articles he might have taken as well.”

Peter looked at him with a comical sort of smile. “You would have been better pleased, perhaps, Eric, if we had all shared in this as well as in other things that are going.”

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“It would certainly have been a more equal distribution of his favours if he had deprived us each of some trifle, but what I meant was that, if it was really a thief, he was not greedy,” said Eric, being suspicious that either a trick had been played on him, or the thief was not one who was seeking to do much mischief.

“Just as well he was not greedy,” put in James, “for in such a case he might have walked off with some of our food, or some of our small and useful tools that are here lying about.”

“You are right, Jim! We are to be congratulated on the fact that he has taken so little,” was the manner in which Peter regarded the event.

“You two may congratulate yourselves to your fullest contentment, and perhaps I should not refuse to acknowledge your good fortune. But I would rather he had got my watch than my chain,” murmured Eric.

“I had no idea it was so valuable; was it worth so much, Eric?” asked Peter, looking mischievously at Jim as he spoke.

No, in one sense, not by a long way so valuable nor so useful as my watch; but you see part of it was a “keepsake,” given to me by a friend just before leaving home, and I would not have lost it for a good deal more than the value of the watch,” Eric said, partly in explanation of his annoyance at losing it.

Then he began turning things over and looking under all kinds of articles, and examining all sorts of absurd places, with the apparent hope of discovering that it was still in the whare. Jim also began to look in corners and places where he did not believe it could be, but out of pure page 163 sympathy to his comrade's disappointment, he joined in the fruitless search.

After tea Eric was still brooding over his loss, and felt inclined for a little while of solitude. One of his old fits of meditation came on him, and he left his mates resting after their hard day's work, and scrambled through the thicket of supplejacks¹⁶³ at the back of the whare, and made his way with a good deal of difficulty to a shady grove of tree ferns, whose straight stems rose to a height of from twelve to twenty feet, and whose heads were crowned with majestic feather-like fronds that spread out to a diameter of fifteen to eighteen feet, overlapping each other and intermingling so thickly that it was impossible to see a hole the size of a pin head through which to look up at the open sky.

The ground was strewn with dead, dry foliage, and here at the root of one of the largest fern trees Eric threw himself, and lay in absolute quiet for a considerable time, for his body was weary, and his mind was again re-living the last hour he had spent with his love by her mother's door. The little treasure at that time bequeathed to his keeping with injunctions to use it in despatching his letters was the chief trouble of his mind.

In another week a vessel would be sailing for Sydney via Wellington, carrying a mail which would be forwarded from that place by the first ship for Britain, and he must send a letter by it; but to send a letter without the seal would be almost as bad, if, indeed, not worse than to send none at all.

Should he postpone his letter? There might not be another opportunity for four or five months. What, then, would be the result of confessing in his first letter that the page 164 precious item she had charged him so earnestly to keep as he would desire to retain her love, had been lost?

Would she, as her words seemed to imply, blame him with carelessness and want of continued affection? Was it in any way probable that she would consider her own love neglected, and make this an excuse for exercising the right he had granted her to terminate their engagement? Or would she accept the explanation of its mean removal from his pillow in the little rude whare in the bush?

Thoughts came rushing through his distressed mind that could not be suppressed. Queries pressed themselves upon him he could divine no answer for; and he was growing more miserable and disconsolate, when his ear caught a light rustling among the dead leaves not far from his feet. He raised his head slowly to avoid startling whatever it might be, but before he could catch sight of any living thing he again heard the sound of disturbance amongst the leaves. He rose higher, and as he did so, observed a brown, thing-legged, sharp-headed bird scratching at the foot of a tree about six or eight paces from him.

After watching its movements for a minute or two, with the object of trying to kill it he attempted to pick up a stick lying near him, but as he did so he moved the dry leaves about him and startled the bird, which immediately picked up something resembling a worm, with a heavy weight at one end. As the bird made off to an adjacent thicket, Eric distinctly heard a sound as of the contact of two metals, and at the same moment he noticed that what had seemed like a worm, glittered as a ray of light fell on it, but its possessor instantly disappeared from his view.

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Could it be possible that he had seen the thief that had caused him so much vexation? He felt sure of it. The jingle and the glitter, as well as the shape of what the bird carried, convinced him he had once more seen his watch-chain. But, alas! where it had now gone it was impossible for him to follow. However, he had the strange satisfaction of feeling sure of how it had been carried off: together with the hopelessness of ever seeing it again.

His curiosity led him to examine the tree at the foot of which the bird had been scratching. It had a gnarly, thick, short trunk, with a leaf nearly round, and having a beautiful glossy surface, from an inch to two and a-half inches in diameter. Its roots were characteristic of the trunk, full of knots, and twisted about like the pictured arms of some monster in wrath, or suffering torture. Just by where the woodhen had been there was an opening in the trunk between two great roots that spread away on the surface. The root was irregular—the result of decay—and evidently the heart of the tree was hollow, just such a place as a bird of that sort might make its home.

It was becoming dark, and he felt that he should be retracing his steps to the whare, so marking the spot well, and noting all the possible land-marks for future recognition, he made his way back through the tangle of undergrowth and supplejacks. As he drew near the hut he heard Jim singing—

Come all ye jolly shepherds that whistle through the glen,
I'll tell ye of a secret that courtiers dinna ken.
What is the greatest bliss that the tongue o' man can name?
'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie when the kye comes hame,
'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie when the kye comes hame¹⁶⁴,

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The love-sick Eric realised that he was not the only one there who had a “bonnie lassie” to think about, but then Jim's was no great distance off, while his was “far, far away” indeed. Eric leaned against a tree until Jim's clear tenor voice had finished his love-song, and then he entered and related his experience.

“I have heard of monkeys being thievish,” said Peter, “but I think I would scarcely give birds credit for that evil spirit of covetousness and the art of pilfering.”

“I am not able to swear that it was my chain that I saw dangling from its beak, but I shall believe it until I have good reason to change my mind,” replied Eric.

“It will get tired of its new braws¹⁶⁵ in a while,” laughed Jim, “and we may be able to pick it up some day as we creep about among the bushes.”

“I doubt there's not much hope of ever seeing it,” was Eric's doleful reply.

The sentence was just finished, when, as if in mockery of the whole affair, the laughing owl burst out in his wild scream and grotesque laugh.

The three wearied bushmen slept well that night, and next day made their first effort at converting the trunk of a tree into timber for house-building.

Like all other men, they made mistakes, and in many ways lost time, but at every point they were learning how to do it better next time. Still, before night they had the gratification of seeing a pile of more or less well cut scantlings¹⁶⁶ piled up near the scene of operation. And they knew now what they had to do, and daily they grew more enured to work, and more skilful in the production of their timber. When they had been there four days they were page 167 able to lay a respectable stack of timber at the edge of the water, where it was received into one of Ben Brooks' boats and conveyed to Dunedin.

On Saturday night the trio rowed the boat they had secured for their own use into Port Chalmers, and moored her to the “Philip Laing,” and eagerly sprang on board, where all their women folk were living, waiting for the cutting of timber and the building of places for them to live in.

The change was a pleasant one after four days of seclusion among the trees, the owls, woodhens, and other members of the feathered race. And every one on the ship was glad to listen to the romantic stories they had to relate of what they had done, seen, heard, and enjoyed during their first week ashore.

Miss Mary Thomson and James Carmichael had a great deal to communicate to each other privately, and took as long as propriety would allow them to do it in. Peter had his mother and sister to satisfy, and after they were attended to he sought the society of a handsome dark-haired young woman, who somewhat impatiently watched for his coming her way, and they for an hour or so found abundance to tell each other. Eric seemed anxious to give his news generally to all who cared to listen, but one young lady gave signs of impatience, and kept frequently casting shy glances at the popular lad she would have been glad to monopolise.

At last, when domestic duties called Eric's mother to affairs on the 'tween decks, Miss McKechnie stood close to his elbow, and by her glib tongue plied him with a battery of questions that secured to her almost all his time, and in a few minutes they were left alone to her evident content page 168 and undisguised delight; but, though it was flattering to Eric to be sought in this manner by the “belle of the ship,” he felt it irksome, but, while reluctant to offend the sister of his best chum, and now his partner in business, he strove to maintain a mere friendly intercourse, and preserved his position in a conspicuous place, where anyone might hear their conversation.

“Eric,” said Peter, who came briskly along the deck to where the two were sitting, “what do you say to the proposal just made to me by Miss Scott?”

“Upon my word,” said Eric, gleefully interrupting him, “accept it Peter; allow me to congratulate you my friend!”

“Of course you are in it as well as myself, my impulsive humourist, shall I now return and tell her you are willing?”

“Certainly, if after hearing its terms I am able to approve of the principle and details.”

Peter took him aside for a moment, and after a serious consultation, they went to hunt out James, and among them they concluded to hold a select pic-nic the following Saturday, at the Maori Settlement over at Otakou; provided arrangements could be made for boats to convey them and their friends.

It was not long before the matter of boats was got over, for Ben Brooks had come off with some fresh meat and a few bags of vegetables, and he undertook to manage the whole of that department for them; and his bill would be, he said, “sent to the man in the moon, as I shall just reckon myself one of the party.” Then after a pause, page 169 during which his countenance had assumed a considering expression, he said:

“No objection to my missus coming, I suppose. She'll help the girls to get the boiler heated and the like, you know.”

“We will be delighted to have her company,” replied Eric in a hearty voice, and the matter was settled.

“You know a good deal about the birds in the bush in these parts, Ben, I should suppose?” said Eric, taking him aside.

“More about shootin' and eatin' 'em than much else,” he answered, comically distorting his features.

“The reason I ask you is this: Last Wednesday my watch chain disappeared from our whare while we were away at work, and that same evening, while I lay alone at the foot of a fern tree, I saw a brown bird with very thin legs and sharp-looking head, and when it became disturbed with my presence, it picked up and ran off with something, which I think was my lost chain. Do you know whether there is a thieving bird like that about here?”

“That was a weka you saw, we calls them wood'ens. Thieves! I should say so. A watch chain! that's just what would please them. Anythink as shines them there wekas is after, first chance. There is'nt nothink to match 'em here for makin' off with what is'nt ther'n.”

“Then,” said Eric, “I am certain that woodhen has been the thief.”

“There's a mighty relief in knowin' for certain who it is as takes anythink. But that don't fetch it back.”

“Well, Ben, I would give a week's work to get back that chain. There is not another thing in my possession I would not have parted with rather than it.”

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“‘Sheddin’ tears won't gather spilt milk' was a sayin' of my good old mother. You may as well say: ‘good-bye sweetheart, good-bye,’ when Mrs. Wood'en walks off with what she fancies; and hold fast to all the other nice things you've got.”

“You think I'll never see it again?”

“Never, sir, never!”

“I intend to have a try.”

“You may make certain she's made it a present to her sweetheart, as a love-token, afore now, and he has stowed it safely away against thieves for her sake.”

Eric's heart gave a few loud thuds as he heard Ben's speech, which seemed to sound like a reproach, but it was impossible for him to know anything of his secret.

“My opinion is that the bird will soon tire of its treasure and forget it, so I will clear out the whole place and turn over every stick and sod¹⁶⁷ until I find it again.” He spoke with the force of a fixed resolve.

“That will be a long job, believe me, and a fruitless one,” returned Ben.

“Fruitless or not, Ben, I mean to do it.”

“I wish you luck, sir, there's more in what you say than your regard for the chain. A chain with love-links in it! Heaven bless you, I hope you may find it.”

“Thank you, Ben, for your expression of good-will; but if you have a mind to do me a good turn, may I ask you to say nothing about this among our friends until I see you again. I do not wish it spoken about. I mean what I have said about finding it.”

“Here's my hand on it willingly, ye'r not the only one as has carried his love-secret in heavy weather. But you page 171 must tell me more some day, when ye've come to know the braces of the tongue of him ye'r confiden' in.”

“When I have found my chain again I will tell you why I place so much value on it.”

“And when you have opened your heart to Ben Brooks you will find that he can be true to them as trusts him,” said the stranded whaler, and bade good-bye over the side of the ship as he dropped down to his boat.

Sunday passed over quietly with those on board the two ships, and early on Monday morning all the men repaired to their various scenes of work.

The trio were soon in the midst of their bush life, causing the forest to ring with the sound of their axes and the occasional crash of the trees they brought to the earth. Eric's mind had one thought, which might be said to be holding him in thrall all day. He was anxious for the end of their last working hour, that he might visit the fern-tree grove, with the gnarled broadleaf¹⁶⁸ and its hollow stem. In imagination he had been by it most of the day.

The longed-for hour at last arrived, and with axe in hand he was leaving the door of the whare, when Peter said:

“Have you not had enough of the axe to-day, Eric, my hands and arms are quite sore, and I am sure you did as much as I have done.”

“I am going to have a look at my fern-tree grove, perhaps I may see my friend, the woodhen. I would like to catch that bird.

“May I go with you?”

“Very pleased, if you are not too tired.”

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And the two of them forced their way through the tangle, cutting away much of the obstructive small brushwood and supplejacks, so as to leave a less difficult means of returning.

“This is the tree the bird was scratching at,” said Eric striking the old broadleaf a blow with his axe.

“Suppose we fell it,” suggested Peter.

“Would it not be better just to open up his hollow trunk, and have a look inside.”

This plan was adopted, and they began to break off the decayed shell that still formed a casing in front of the cavity. When that was removed it exposed a hollow in which, when all the refuse was cleared away, two persons could stand upright; so that the tree was not much more than a rim of fresh wood, while its heart had rotted away.

There was many a niche in that rough interior where Eric's chain might have been deposited, and their axes had knocked down such a large amount of dry rotten stuff that it took them a long time to feel sure they had made a careful and thorough search, but at last they had every particle drawn out, and every corner and crevice of the dusty old trunk looked into, but no chain was found. It seemed worse than labour in vain, for the disappointment to Eric was severe indeed. All day he had built his hope on finding what he had lost in that old tree, and now his heart was dull, and his spirit vexed.

His sleep that night was restless, and although many dreams that passed from his memory, one remained as vivid to his consciousness as if he had actually passed through the physical experience.

He was in Edinburgh, where he could see, but was page 173 unable to speak to, the one who had for a long time occupied the greatest portion of his thoughts, and for whose company he now felt a deep and increasing desire. Kirsty sat before him, quite unconscious of his presence. She seemed to be speaking though he heard nothing, but from her features he knew she was unhappy. He did not recognise the room, but believed it to be one in the house of her father.

In her hand she held an envelope with a stamp on one corner, while on the back there was a seal, at which she was looking curiously. The letter was still unopened, and at this he wondered. She would look at the address, examine the stamp, and then turn over to inspect the seal, then throw the letter into her lap and look out of the window wistfully. As she did so, he saw a big tear gather in her eye and steal down her cheek, leaving behind it the red track of its course.

While in that melancholy posture the vision gradually faded from his sight, and he was in one of the pleasant walks where he and his love had so often been together, but now he was alone. As he passed slowly along reviewing the familiar sights, he observed a lady and a gentleman approaching him. When they had come near him he recognised them as Kirsty and David Moir, who were apparently very confidential in their conversation.

They were walking quickly, and he made an effort to accost them, standing so close that he almost touched her arm, but they passed on, and he could neither speak nor move, while he looked after them in an agony of mind; again the vision dissolved slowly, and he was sitting by the foot of a tall pine tree not far from the foot of his whare, page 174 contemplating the surrounding picture of New Zealand bush scenery. One fallen monarch of the forest seemed to form the centre of his meditations. It must have lain there for years, for out of its decomposing trunk many young trees had sprouted, two or three of them being almost four inches in diameter, and rank grass and beautiful moss covered it from end to end. It was an interesting scene, and he was moralising on the practical illustratio– of life springing from and nourished by death and decay.

Once more a transformation took place, not in the natural features of his environment, but in the mysterious appearance of Kirsty. She was alone, standing by the upturned roots of the old tree, which first she examined, and then turning her face full upon Eric, she pointed with the forefinger of her right hand to a hollow, and instantly vanished along with all the fabric of his dream.

The dreamer awakened before the others, and as soon as dawn lit up the eastern sky with the golden beams of the rising day, he passed out of the whare, and for a little while he sat on a low, rudely-constructed bench outside, recalling his night's experiences, and then set out in the direction of his fern grove, hoping to discover the locality of the old rotting tree he had seen in his sleep.

Nothing in the dream gave him any guide to find the spot by. He had not seen any place like it, but he imagined it had some connection with “Fern Grove” and would be found not far from it. In his dream he had thought himself in its vicinity, and of course he supposed the whole had to do with his lost “keepsake.”

Strong-minded though he usually was, like most of us, he could not resist the influence of love; and when he had page 175 seen his love pointing him so earnestly to a strange place, under stranger circumstances, he was powerless in anything but obedience.

He reached the hollowed, gnarled broadleaf that Peter and he had scooped out, and then stopped to consider which direction to take. Follow the very way the bird ran, seemed to be spoken to him in almost audible tones. But the bird had dived into a thicket of brambles, or more commonly called “lawyers¹⁶⁹,” which were impenetrable to man. However, he obeyed the admonition, but the brambles stopped him. In a little while he succeeded in making his way round the extensive cluster, and stood on the other side of the obstruction.

Beyond him was rising ground, from which the supplejacks grew in network abundance and clung to the trees so thickly as almost to defy a passage through. Yet the monitor seemed to say “go through,” and using his hatchet freely he cleared a way slowly for himself, and got to the summit of the little ridge.

Clearer ground was now before him, and he made his way into the hollow through which a crystal stream rippled over mossy stones, among the roots of overhanging trees, and leaping down little cataracts¹⁷⁰ on its way to the sea. He marked a tree where he first came upon the stream, and then followed it down for some distance, but still saw no place resembling the vision of his dream.

Retracing his steps he went up the course looking carefully for any indication of the fallen tree for which he was searching. He soon got so far from “Fern Grove” that he was sure he was beyond the locality he desired to page 176 find and made his way over the ridge, taking a “shortcut,” for his starting point.

When he thought he must be nearing the spot where first he laid himself at the root of the great fern, he was struck with a sense of some familiarity with his surroundings, as if he had been there before. He stopped still, but was like a man in a mist; he knew the objects nearest to him, but the farther off ones were all strange.

Going on a little farther, he saw through the winding wood a more than usually rich growth of vegetation, and projecting from among it the branches of a large decayed and fallen tree. His heart bounded with hope.

He made haste to put himself in the position, in relation to the dead tree, that he had occupied in his dream, but this was only effected by a slight detour and a scramble through lawyers and thick scrub. When he emerged from his struggle he knew he had reached the place he was looking for.

There was the identical tree, moss-covered, with others growing out of its decaying body; there was its upturned roots, which had torn the earth with them as they were wrenched from their ancient bed, and there, yes, positively there, was the hollow place to which Kirsty had pointed!

In a moment he was standing where she had stood. Then he bent down to the spot she had indicated, and far up in the hollow of the old totara¹⁷¹ tree lay snugly on a mossy bed the result of the woodhen's theft.