The author, already well-known to our readers, was born in Feilding and belongs to the Raukawa tribe. He is studying medicine at Otago University. DREAMER'S RETURN by MASON H. DURIE The matron stopped at the foot of Boy Heru's bed. “Hello, and how are we today? Still hurt to breathe? Yes? Don't worry it won't be long now. And you won't turn the radio up too loud will you, Mr Bryan isn't very well today. You'll have another friend in the other bed soon so that'll be nice won't it.” Boy nodded and gave a grunt. He reached over, switched off the radio and pulled up his blankets. What a place! Nothing to do here. Today was the third day too—seemed more like three weeks since that car had overturned. That fulla couldn't drive to save himself. Wonder who's going to take the empty bed. Boy was sick of his present companions. All old chaps—didn't look as if they could talk about anything but their sicknesses. Real old squares! He was the only Maori in his ward too which made him a bit more lonely and sort of self-conscious. Those Pakehas seemed to be looking at him all the time—that's what he thought anyway and it made him shy of the nurses and doctors. First time in hospital too—everything a bit strange. The new arrival came in later. He was old, white hair getting thin on top, Pakeha chap. Sister Andrews was with him. “Next door to you is young Heru. Poor boy. From what we can gather he's a real bodgy. Look at his hair! Honestly, some of these Maoris today—disgusting I say. Just seem to roam around the streets in those ridiculous clothes—none of them look to have decent steady jobs. Ah well, not our fault. Now anything else? Press this if you want me, I'll let you sleep.” “Thanks sister, I'll be just fine. You know it's good to have a bit of quiet for a while, I can sure do with it. Goodnight.” Sister Andrews swirled out glancing importantly at the sleeping beds while her nose was held well into the air. Starched white uniforms looked very neat but cold. Boy wasn't asleep. Disappointing to see that he was just like the rest—old and half bald. “Hey mate what's wrong with you?” “Oh! I thought you were asleep. Tena koe e hoa! Charlie Beeman's my name; yours is Heru eh? “Boy Heru. You got some Maori in you? “No, wish I did. Lived across the ranges for years and picked up a few words. Good language Maori, reminds me of another world. You from these parts?” “Gee no; I'm from across the ranges too. Te Kohatu, near the coast, ever heard of it?” “Too right. I was down at Mariu—working on a farm for forty years. What did you come over this side for?” “Oh just to have a look round. You know how dry it is back home. Lot of boys came across. Most of us are working at the Freezing Works. Going down South soon.” Charlie nodded. He knew a lot of young Maori boys who had left home because it was too dead. Now they roamed the cities—a week here and a week there then off somewhere else. Maybe it was the same adventurous spirit that set the early canoes floating in the 14th century only now it was finding no new ocean to explore. Those young people can't be tied down to humdrum routine—not yet anyway. Charlie wondered whether that spirit of life would die as time marched, whether chaps like Boy would soon become “Pakehafied” and be content to settle and work steadily at the one place with money and promotion as the ultimate goal. Perhaps that ‘Get on in the world and do well’ attitude would spoil it all even for wayback places like Te Kohatu and Mariu. A pity but maybe it would be best. Charlie looked at Boy. About 19 or 20 he decided; good looking but due for a good hair cut long ago; bit sulky looking too—probably fed up with the place. “Good job at the works?” “Yeah—Good money anyway. We got £15 clear last week.” “Wow, not bad. Save much?” “Me? I'm always broke never get a chance to save.” “But where does it go?” “Gee there's always something on here—pictures, dances, parties, taxis into town, and of course a guy's got to have a few clothes. Not much left after all that.” “I don't know! If I was still single and could clear £15 a week I'd have a few bob put away. Take a trip to Aussie or buy a car or do something. At least I'd have something to show for it.