“And the baby?” “No, she sleeps in a cot in her own room”. “Phoo!” exclaimed Ngaropi, who shares a double bed with three other girls. We went back to the kitchen. “For me?” she wheedled. “What?” “Those pennies”. “What pennies?” “Those four up there”. She pointed to a jar where we keep odd coppers. “How do you know there's pennies up there?” “I looked”. I resisted the temptation to lecture about property rights and said, “They are Mr Thomas', you ask him”. “Oh, he wouldn't mind, he's my mate. But he shouts at us kids. You don't eh?” “I suppose he has to shout to make himself heard above the noise”. My husband takes Ngaropi's class for a couple of lessons a week. I have often remonstrated with him about the way he yells at the children, but he always maintains that to get any work out of them he has to drive them along verbally. It certainly doesn't upset them unduly, but shouldn't he try to guide them in a kindly manner? “I'm having kai here,” Ngaropi broke in on my pondering. “Are you?” I said with some surprise. But it was the baby's lunchtime, so I fed them together. “What's that?” Ngaropi asked as I gave the baby her custard. “A sort of pudding, a custard. Would you like some?” “Oh yes,” she said, eyes aglow. So I gave her a large helping which she tucked away surprisingly quickly and with remarkable sound effects. Peanut butter was also new to her and she demolished the last of my bread thickly besmeared with it. “We mostly have jam,” she explained. I gave her a glass of milk instead of the requested tea, put the baby to bed and tried to think of a tactful way of banishing Ngaropi so that I could have my usual quiet lunch and finish the book I was reading. “Well, you'd better go home, now, your mother might be wondering where you are”, I said, at last. “Oh no, I'm staying here”. “No, off you go, I've got Iots to do”. “Are you going to do your dishes? I can help”. “No, I've got some reading and things to do”. “Have a game of marbles. There's two up there”, She changed the game and indicated the marbles on the mantlepiece. “I can't play marbles, but you can have those if you like”. “Can I have that apron?” “What apron?” “That one on the line—you've got two”. “I need more than two, so I'm afraid you can't have it”. “Why not?” she whined. “Because I want it. Now off you go home”. Ngaropi ignored that, and wandered into the baby's room. “Don't got in there please, Ngaropi, I want the baby to go to sleep”. “She doesn't want to sleep”. “Yes she does, now out you go”. I propelled her out and shut the door. I must admit I was getting rankled, and a vague gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach did not improve my temper. It was getting past my lunch-hour. “Home, Ngaropi, you can come back another day”. She just grinned. “I'm going to stay here; I'm going to live with my darling. Do you know who my darling is?” No answer from me. “Mr Thomas, of course”. This was news. I smiled and said, “I'll tell him that”. And Ngaropi looked pleased. There was a few minutes silence until I again asked her to go home; I really was getting tired of the conversation. There was no movement from Ngaropi so I got up, took her by the scruff of the neck and pushed her to the door. “Now off you go, when I say it is time to go, I mean it. You only spoil things for the others because I won't have you here if you don't behave.” I am afraid I shouted; then blushed as I imagined my husband's grin when he found out.