reach almost down to sea level. I lingered longest in that little old church, and I wondered if they ever worshipped there now the Creator of all that grand beauty, or did they just hurry in as we did that day to take photographs and hurry on again, in search of better views? On and still on we journeyed till at last we reached Weheka where the bus journey ended, and travellers booked in at the large hostel from where they would visit the many sights, including a bus trip out to Fox Glacier, while I was to journey, now by car, still further on, by night, to reach my destination. The trip was quite a fast one over mostly flat country through heavy bush, where hundreds of opossums jumped helter skelter across the road, and out over swampy patches stripped of the heavy bush. At last we were there, and someone was there to open an old rickety gate, while we drove in over a bumpy paddock to the homestead, where someone else came out, among dogs and cats and geese, to meet us with a lantern. Suddenly I was inside, and my aunt, a big, tall woman with dancing dark brown eyes had taken me and hugged me to her ample bosom, then held me at arm's length, the better to look at me, and then hugged me again, till I felt quite giddy. Then she was introducing me to the family gathered there, one by one I met them, until at last, in the farthest corner of the room, I saw Hakopa for the first time. He rose slowly and stood quietly looking at me, while I held my breath and stared wide eyed at him, neither of us offering to step forward and shake hands, as had everyone else. I fought to control my feelings as I thought—so this is Hakopa, the reason for my having been sent away from all that I loved so dearly, to travel alone for hundreds of miles—and as we gazed at one another he so quietly, but I so emotionally, my aunt again embraced me, and everyone began talking at once, and that moment, that seemed an age to me, passed as if unnoticed by the others. They had to decide whether I resembled my mother or not, and ask after my journey, and rush around me, to make me comfortable, and to see to my every want. And so began my supposed holiday with my distant relatives. I was taken to all the places where mother used to go as a girl, and I learned to love my aunt very much, she was so young in spirit, though she had reared a large family. As the weeks ran into months. I began to mention my desire to return home to the North Island, but one day I received a letter from my mother which was to the point, saying that I was to be a good girl and do what they expected of me and to make up my mind to marry Hakopa as they were all set on that, and that surely, after having taken that long journey, I would not think of making it all in vain by thinking of coming back home. Inwardly I rebelled, and cast about for a way of escape, then I would look at my aunt and uncle and numerous cousins and other relatives, and somehow I knew I was trapped, and I realised quite suddenly that I had already committed myself by coming here in the first place, and how could I hurt my own kin by turning my back on them? So, when later on my aunt put the question to me, and sent Hakopa to me to propose, I said “Yes,” even though perhaps a little halfhearted, nevertheless, it was yes! We were married with the usual fuss and feasting, and everyone was too busy enjoying themselves to notice that we were not the most romantic of couples, and so I settled to my married life with only what I had taken in my suitcase and the presents we received for our wedding. Where Hakopa found a job we would go, and camp in a tent or perhaps a little batch, and I learnt to cook in a camp oven over an open fire. Sometimes we stayed with some relative of us both, at other times we stayed at his, Hakopa's home. But when our first child was born, and then, in just over a year's time a second came along, I began to long for a home of my own, and so it was we planned to build, with nothing between us, and no prospect of help from our families, as they were not rich. First we migrated to more civilised parts and began to save a little. Soon we were making application to the Maori Housing for a home. We chose a very modest plan, which proved a mistake, but we could not risk not being able to keep up payments. It was a tiny place with a 10 × 14 living room and two 10 × 10 bedrooms and a combined washhouse-bathroom. By the time we moved in we had three children, no furniture other than our double bed, a baby's cot and pram, a kitchen table and a few rather rickety chairs. And so began our life in our own home, and what with keeping up the payments on the house and providing for ourselves, there was very little left. It was a long time before any new furniture could be bought, though now and then our families would send us something which they had no more use for, but with a bright curtair here and a dash of new paint there, we made do with what we had, in the meantime, keeping a look out for a bargain from the “mart”. Each year we laboured to pay off our home and each year almost, we added to our family, until it was very evident we had made a great mistaks in choosing a small plan, and so we had to apply for a further loan to add to our home, two more feedrooms and a parlour with open fire. What a luxury was that open fire!. But still no furniture! We had to buy beds and bedding for the bedrooms, and one or two chairs, but no floor covering, instead we polished up the wooden floors and they did look lovely, being new. We set the lawn around the house with little bordered edges, and kept it all nice and tidy, and our saying was— costs nothing to be clean and tidy. As our children grew, they were taught to gather up bits of paper and sticks that might lay around and keep doggy off the marigold borders. Marigolds were not my ideal, but they were cheap and pro-