thinking Uncle had more converts, but at a second look, I grew uneasy. One of them, an old kuia whom I knew by name, barred the way into the churchyard. ‘E noho koutou ki kona, you cannot defile our church. What kind of God is this who doesn't like people to eat kai moana or pork. And he aha te kino o te waipiro. As for that man (she pointed an old long wrinkled finger at Pastor Elliot), you are a bad lot of people, he and his people are after our lands, just like the Komihana (Maori Affairs)!’ ‘E tika ana ae, e tika ana’, chorused the other robed people. ‘Ae e rongo ana koutou’. ‘So be off, you hear me, be off. Do not insult the memory of our tupunas.’ Her energy spent with all this outburst, the old kuia clasped her hands around the gate latch. Uncle was amazed. Although he had had an idea that trouble was brewing, he certainly hadn't expected it in this manner, nor at this time. Everyone started shouting at once, screaming and hurling abuse. This was too much for Pastor Elliot. ‘Peace, let us have peace, brothers and sisters, let us not forget we are at the threshold of the Lord's House.’ In the silence that followed everyone looked uneasy. Uncle, taking advantage of this, spoke up. ‘Na wai, na wai—who was it, yes, who was it who cut and hauled the logs from the bush? Who pit-sawed them, and who was it that was responsible for building this, this church.’ Oh, how proud I felt of my uncle, standing magnificently there. Mentally I pictured him as a proud warrior of old, standing before a neighbouring war party. ‘I'll tell you, you people have very short memories. My grandfather, yes, that's who did all this work. And what about the carvers that came from Rotorua, yes, all the way from Arawa, to carve the altar and communial rails? Waata Heiwari paid it all from his own pocket and fed them all the time it took. Now let us through. There will be real trouble if you don't.’ The old kuia meekly moved aside. Uncle bade us enter, and we silently filed into the church. The widow Bella's father consented to ring the bell. Its ringing pealed out into the valley, echoing around the bush-clad hills. It rang sadly I thought, yet at least it was bringing the news of the service to all. ‘What a friend we have in Jesus’, we sang to commence our service. It was a wonderful sermon and the way Pastor and the other Pakeha brethren prayed, it made everything so simple and clear. He told us that we knew that his church kept the seventh day as their Sabbath. Did not the Bible and the commandments say such. ‘You all know that this day is what the world calls Saturday; if we want to be children of God, we must keep this day as he has seen fit. That, my brothers and sisters, is up to you. You must decide.’ (Why, what will happen now? No more movies, or dances at the marae—I won't be allowed to play in the tennis matches on Saturdays.) A few seconds' pause while he fiddled with his books. ‘The decision must come from you, and you alone.’ Then he spoke of loving one's neighbours — ‘Spiritually of course’, whispered Rata, loud enough for the widow Bella to hear. It was a