listened. The cry was repeated. They said ‘It is just as if it were the voice of our old man’. They shouted, and the voice cried from above ‘I am still alive; let me down’. His relatives returned let him down, and undid the wrappings. He looked up to the puriri and went on to say, ‘My eyes were still open, and yet you suspended me alive.’ Many years passed, then he really died. Enough of that. His son, Ngatihau, took Te Ataakura, the daughter of Poroumata, as his wife. She was still mourning for her father. She conceived and bore child, a daughter; she mourned deeply for her pains, and her hopes that it might have been a son to avenge the death of her father. She gave her the name Te Aomihia (the cloud that was welcomed); that is, the clouds which her father welcomed when he put to sea to his death. She conceived again while she and her husband were living away at Opotiki. She was still mourning her father. As she was mourning, the child moved violently in her womb. Then she uttered this saying: ‘Ah, move thou violently within me, a son, It is for thee to avenge the death of my father.’ The child was born, a son. She gave him as a name the name of his grandfather, Tumoana-kotore-i-whakairia-oratia. (Tumoana-kotore who was suspended alive). This was shortened, when they addressed him, to Tu-whakairi-ora. She cherished her child, having constantly in mind that the death of her father would be avenged by her child. The afterbirth was buried, and the place where it was deposited was called Te ewe-o-Tuwhakaairiora (the afterbirth of Tuwhakaairiora). The tohungas tended the child with their incantations—Whakanihoniho, Whangawhangai, Ihotaua, and other incantations. He grew up and came to man's estate, constantly hearing the tohungas who were tending him speaking ever of the saying of his mother. He had taken part in mock battles and sports, and had smitten his man. He had taken part also in serious engagements; he had gone into the very heat of the battle; he had gathered in a bundle and turned aside the weapons which beset him on all sides like faggots in a fire. He had won the great battle at Paengatoitoi. His fame as a warrior had gone abroad; he had acquired the emblems of bravery in battle whereby the enemy is overcome. At last he took farewell of the tribe. ‘Farewell! I go in accordance with the saying of my mother, which is still repeated, and which I still hear; it was perhaps because I was moving violently within her that she said: ‘Ah, move thou violently within me, a son, It is for thee to avenge the death of my father’. The tribe knew that the death of his grandfather, Poroumata, was the reason Tu-whakairiora was going. The tribe wished that there should be a large force to conduct him to avenge the death of his grandfather, Poroumata. He said, ‘Enough, I alone will go. There will be the tribes connected with him to conduct me! Alone he set out. The tidings of the beauty of the daughters of Te Aotaki, Ruataupare, and Auahi-kaota, had spread even to Tuwhakairiora's home at Opotiki. When he arrived at the mouth of the Wharekahika River which is at Hicks Bay, these women were gathering cockles, while the girls who accompanied them were sitting beside the fire, with the clothes lying in a heap. He questioned the children, and they told him it was Ruataupare and Auahi-koata. He called to mind the tidings which had reached him of these women. He had taken his seat upon the clothes, and the children expressed their disapproval, the women looking on from a distance. The children went and told them and they said, ‘Well, tell him that you must bring us our clothes’. When the children came he got up at once and gave them up, and sat down again. While the women were putting on their clothes, they gazed intently at him and the emblems of high birth and bravery which he bore with him. He was asking himself why he had not questioned the children as to which was Rautaupare. The women clothed themselves and the children took up the cockles. They made their way to the south end of the bay, to Nukutaharua. When they were some distance off, Tuwhakairiora rose up. He followed behind them, treading in their footsteps of the women, and saying to himself: ‘Are those Ruataupare's, or are those?’ When they turned round, they saw him doing this. When they reached the turning he turned as well, and continued following them until they were near the village. Then Ruataupare and her companions walked faster to take the news quickly to their father, and Tuwhakairiora walked on slowly. They described to their father the emblems of high birth and bravery which this stranger bore, and how he had persisted in following them. Then Te Aotaki said, ‘Ah, well, it is perhaps your cousin Tuwhakairiora; it seems so from the emblems you describe. Where is he?’ ‘Here he comes.’ Then Te Aotaki said to his daughter, ‘Adorn yourselves, and go and call a welcome to your cousin’. Then his daughters and their mother stood on the marae, to the right of the house Te Aotaki reclined in the space by the window, gazing with an intent look. The tribe with his daughters were waving a welcome. Tuwhakairiora stood on the marae and remained standing a long time. The tribe was gazing at the emblems of high birth and