cousin here, then, my people, he has done good. He informs me that she has given up living in sin. But also I say, let us see, let us wait and see. My wife and I have asked him, this man of God, to be our guest for as long as he likes. Then he can explain these things to us.’ No one said a word. Through this all, Huia sat with head bowed and downcast eyes, whether in modesty or guilt I did not know. ‘Of course, we will have to sell our pigs at the sale on Wednesday, I suppose, now that you have decided that.’ This was from Grandfather who all this time had said not a word. Now I could see he was angry and standing up he began pacing backwards and forwards, while his carved tokotoko twisted and whirled in the air as if he were fighting off some invisible spirit. Slowly he walked over to where Huia and the minister sat. ‘My people, e te whanau ma, it is indeed hard for us to understand this new talk about religion and other things this man of God tells us.’ Here he paused to wipe his brow with a large coloured hankie. ‘It is not that I doubt the wisdom of the Paipera Tapu (Holy Bible). But have not our people from time immemorable, deep back into the misty past of Kupe and faraway Hawaiki, relished such delicacies as pipi, kutai, paua, kina, tuna, and the other treasures that the Ariki of Te Moana Nui a Kiwa provides to nourish the children of Tangaroa? Aue, I cannot believe it is sin to feast on pork, for truly it is one of mankind's sweetest meats. I will never change my religion or my church, but I will wait and let my son explain these things as he has said.’ What happened during the conversation between Uncle Hemi and Pastor Elliot must certainly have been startling, for his letters to us in Auckland became more brotherly and loving towards my mother. They were more frequent, and more flowery in poetic praise of the Bible and its teachings. Mother began to worry about him, ‘I hope he doesn't take too much to this new religion.’ ‘I'm afraid he'll end up at the mental hospital as a religious crank,’ said Father. ‘That will be enough about my family thank you. Some of yours’ could do with some religious teachings,’ Mother said. ‘Ha, ha!’ gaily chuckled Dad, ‘Perhaps that Pastor chap will find them something else to do with their corn instead of turning it into that muck they call rotten corn.’ The Christmas holidays couldn't come quick enough for me, and as I left Auckland for Rangiheke in the old service car I was filled with all sorts of ideas. Once there I was soon to find out. I noticed the difference in our meals. There was ground wheat for breakfast and plenty of brown sugar and honey at each meal. Cheese, stewed fruit and brown bread were in abundance. No more shell fish or pork was eaten in Uncle's presence. Wonder of wonders, he had even given up smoking also. Once when I came back to the house unexpectedly, I smelt the smell of burning rubber, and going into the kitchen I found my cousin. Rata throwing pieces of rubber tubing into the stove. But I more than suspected it was her way of ridding the kitchen of the smell of the bacon which she had been frying while everyone was out, for I had seen the chooks fighting over something which I was sure was the thick rind of bacon. Where once Uncle was the life and soul of the parties he now no longer went to parties on Saturday nights, nor even drank spirits during the week. Now, this was all evilness. He was forever quoting Biblical texts. A favourite one, repeated so many times that I even had nightmares about it was, ‘The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.’ Pastor Elliott was now a regular visitor, bringing wise and learned people with him on each visit. They introduced new ideas and plants into some of the families' vegetable crops. Straggly overgrown orchards were pruned, and fruit was preserved with honey. Pastor Elliot was now a respected personage. When it became known that he could heal as well as lecture, people turned Uncle's home into an out-patients' clinic. We later found out that he was a qualified chemist, who had turned his back on riches to become a missionary for his faith. Most of the local Maoris treated him with respect and there were few of the sly digs that he had once received. A few still talked about his new converts and often called them carrot-eaters, as they had been told to drink as much carrot juice as possible. But they soon stopped this when the district nurse pointed out that the children of these carrot-eaters never suffered from hakihaki. Bella was an attractive young widow, with a family of four, whose husband had met a tragic death. Tall and beautiful, she was the main dish of many a scandalous recipe. Many of the stories were no doubt true, but what can one do when one is young and has tasted the fruits of a happy marriage. Though she never lacked ardent callers, none would care to take on such a handicap of mass-produced children. Often the thought of her widow's pension and her family allowance was more