bell that all within earshot raced or tottered thither. News? No good news. Bill spoke to the men. ‘You fellers with boats, get 'em afloat by the ol' jetty. Constable Brogan'll be here soon. We've got to look for Uncle's ol' punt — most likely to the north. Wind's blowing that way. Mrs Tumanaako, you organise the women,’ At any other time they would have muttered, ‘Whakahihi — stuck up!’ resenting his bossiness. But not now. Mrs Tumanaako, her big firm body not made for all this wading through swamp and puffing up hills, forebore to point out that they had already been searching for hours. Instead, she snatched the gauntlet flung down. ‘We women will do the shore. Maybe we'll see better than the men. Mereana, fix George Henry's bed and have hot soup.’ Her eye, sweeping over her small force, lit on her aged parents. ‘And you,’ she said gently, but emphatically, ‘you pray — on your knees. We go.’ The mother and father, who shared the cottage with the Tumanaakos, and indeed had much to do with rearing the children, climbed slowly back. In their bedroom they knelt, never doubting that a mighty and merciful Father would hear them. ‘Our Father… E to matou Matua i te rangi, kia tapu tou ingoa…’ Brown hands clasped on white counterpane, voices rising and falling. ‘My old knees!’ croaked Grandfather, and his wife thrust under them an embroidered pillow. ‘E te Matua atawhai, kaha rawa, kua he matau; kua marara he i ou ara me te hipi ngaro — O most merciful Father, we have sinned; we have strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep… O Lord, watch over the mokopuna.’ Mrs Tumanaako was praying too as she climbed rise after rise to peer over the water. ‘O Lord, he's only a little boy, sometimes naughty, but You wouldn't hold that against him. Lord!… Lily, go tell your father to fetch the car round the point. They might wash up there… and I've not always been a good woman, but I love my children, Lord. You wouldn't take this youngest one!’ She shaded her eyes, straining desperately for some sign. ‘And, Lord, we are poor miserable people. We swear and quarrel and drink, but You wouldn't hold that against George Henry, Lord!’ And George Henry out on the lake? By some miracle, he had righted the punt, and was now squatting precariously amidships. Great shivers of fear racked his body. Nuku MUST come. As time passed his hopes fastened on his mother, grandmother, Mr Montague — anyone. ‘Mum, come quick. You must know I'm here. Gran, Mr Montague, save me!’ No one came. What had the old minister said? ‘When you are in trouble, go to your mum. When there's no mum, and you're in awful trouble, then pray to the Lord.’ ‘Lord, Lord,’ whispered George Henry, ‘bring me safe to land. Bring my mum.’ No one came. But the wind sank to a huff, huff, and the wild monster in the lake crept back into his cave. George Henry's weary eyes closed. Blessed oblivion! Down by the jetty, Consable Brogan reflected that Bill Whaanga had done all the organising possible with half-a-dozen waterlogged dinghies. Perhaps the police uniform and a swiftly assumed confidence would comfort them. ‘Very good, Whaanga. I'll catch the boat round the point.’ The afternoon wore on. Boats came and went. Gallons of tea were brewed. No news. But the wind dropped, the waves subsided, and the lake was almost oily. At the top of the Tumanaako hill old Uncle could for the first time make effective use of his binoculars. At his elbow, Ted Tumanaako fidgetted, wishing he could put his eye to the old man's toy. ‘Ha. I see…’ ‘What?’ ‘The boat… (fumbling). Put your eye there, young Ted.’ Ted seized and focused, and with a shout of ‘Georgie!’ flung away the instrument and leapt down the path. From the jetty his hurtling figure and waving arms were seen. Winged messenger! ‘George Henry, out there!’ Exhaustion melted away. Bill Whaanga and Ted seized the best boat. Mrs Tumanaako ordered thermos and rugs to the water's edge and prayed again, ‘O Lord,