Nurse still had her eye on Hine, and in due course got her X-rayed and a ‘T.B.’ shack moved onto the section next to the house. Hine conceded a point to the nurse—she slept in the hut (the nice clean uncomfortable hut)—but with Hoata, and when the village grapevine passed the news on, the gossips said, ‘Oh dear, the Health Department must be really firm with Hine!’ And Hine queened over all and sundry in the hut surrounded by her cats and dogs and the goat which now stayed home because its mistress didn't go out any more. And all the relations came to see Hine and hear her talk—Hine who had always been the one for wisecracks and jokes at others' expense. They laughed and they went away and they said, ‘Hine she is porangi, no? Did you notice what she said today?’ and another replied, ‘It's the MATE—they always go like that before the end!’ and still another said, ‘Ai-e—but her old man he was rori rori too, before he died…!’ (Mad? Yes they said she was going mad—Hine knew what they all said). The district nurse told the doctor about the cats on the bed and the dogs and the goat, and how Hine refused to sleep by herself because she was afraid of the taipos—the spirits of her ancestors, which she said she could see sitting on the rafters of the hut. No, she must have someone beside her, and she must have the light on ALL the time! It was the doctor's turn to shrug his shoulders and say: ‘Let her be, Nurse—it won't be long now’. Then Hine got so that poor Hoata could manage her no longer and she refused to do anything for anyone else—but the end was not yet. Hine insisted on going to the tangi of a distant cousin that was being held on the marae. She was too ill to walk—but go she would—and poor Hoata was hard put to it to persuade her out of it. She ranted and she raved at him and finally he gave in. With the help of a male friend he wheeled Hine down to the tangi, sitting on a wheelbarrow—all wrapped in coats and rugs. Such a shock for the village and the visitors when they beheld her! ‘That Hine!’ said the gossips, ‘Porangi—Mad she must be…!’ and the pakehas behind their hands said, ‘Ugh! how awful, what a risk—this awful “T.B.”—Aren't the Maoris careless—how people can stand being near her —Really it's disgraceful!’ But Hine didn't mind or care what the people said. She had gone to the tangi and pressed noses with relatives she hadn't seen for ages—she had honoured the dead! She had obeyed the customs of her race and that was all that mattered. After that Hine's strength dwindled quickly, and the talk about the spirits of her ancestors sitting on the rafters became more frequent. Hoata's patience was getting frayed at the edges when the doctor suggested the Mental Hospital. With some heart burnings Hoata agreed. He had heard about people dying in the porangi-house, and had a superstitious awe of it, but the doctor assured him it was the best for all under the circumstances—anything might happen, then Hoata might not be able to manage. Hoata looked at the doctor with his dog-like eyes and said with a catch in his throat, ‘Violent?’—and the doctor nodded. They got Hine into the car that was to take them to the Mental Hospital some eighty or ninety miles away, under the pretext of taking her for a ride, and Hine chattered along quite gaily and was quite intelligent in her comments. Suddenly she said, ‘You're taking me to the porangi-house.’ ‘No, No’, said Hoata in distress. ‘You liar, You are!—You're taking me to the porangi-house to die!’. Hoata looked at Hine with his soft dog-like eyes all misted over, but in a flash of failing strength Hine raised herself and gave him a good hard slap across the face. ‘Liar’ she hissed, and then lay back in her corner and refused to speak for the rest of the journey. When Hine died they brought her home again and she had one of the biggest tangis the village had seen for a long time, especially for a woman, and there were many pakehas present and lots and lots of wreaths. Hine's face looked in death what it should have looked like in life—if she had not always been ravaged by the MATE. Calm and smooth and young, and the red camelia that someone had placed above her right ear in the fine black hair, enhanced the illusion—Poor Hine who had always had the MATE and wouldn't believe she was going to die, had gone to join the spirits of her ancestors.

Building of the new Maori community centre at Waipatu Pa, Hastings, is now well under way. The community centre, an ambitious project, is progressing very rapidly.