problem. Your advice we would like.’ Me. Why me? Sharon shrugged her shoulders. ‘I hope you will excuse us.’ I was becoming impatient. Why the beating round the bush? Sharon looked towards the kettle and I nodded. She began to make tea. Koro Mat sat back in the chair and rested his gnarled hands on the edge of the table. Both men steamed. ‘It's Wairereotehau!’ ‘Wairere-o-te-hau?’ Sharon looked across at me. The old men saw our puzzlement. ‘Wairereotehau—a canoe—an old canoe—he's lying on the bank and now the Pakeha is taking him away.’ So this was it. But I couldn't see why they wanted my help. Petau must have sensed my confusion. ‘We would like you to speak with the Pakeha.’ So this was it. Koro Petau sighed with relief, and both men lapsed into silence. Sharon and I looked at each other. We still weren't much wiser. ‘This canoe—whose is it—who owns it?’ Koro Mat coughed. ‘It belongs to the Wallaces—they lent it to the Moananuis to carry wool, now Moananui has given it to the Pakeha!’ ‘It is not theirs to give—the Wallaces never give Wairere away!’ ‘This man from the city’, muttered Petau, ‘he takes him—he should remain here. This is his river!’ Both men were angry. Sharon placed tea before them. ‘You'd like me to see this man?’ They nodded. ‘The Pakeha—you talk to him for us. It's better that way eh?’ Mat nodded in agreement. ‘Would it be best to check with the Wallaces first?’ Both looked at me quizzically, then Petau nodded. ‘Eee—that's best. They're in the phone book—down the city—Maggie Wallace.’ I left the two men in the kitchen with Sharon, and put through a toll call. Mrs Wallace was at home. I explained who I was, and my reason for phoning. She was uncertain at first—perhaps suspicious. However when I explained that I was phoning on behalf of koro Mat and koro Petau, she warmed immediately and explained the situation. It was her husabnd that owned the canoe, and he had, just before his death, given the canoe to a Mr Davey Rhodes. Mr Rhodes evidently had a small private collection of Maori artifacts, and he intened to repair the canoe and add it to his display. So there we were. There was apparently nothing we could do. I thanked Mrs Wallace and returned to the kitchen. They all looked at me expectantly. I shook my head. ‘I'm sorry’ I said. ‘Mrs Wallace has given permission for the canoe to go.’ The two old men looked at each other in disbelief. Petau slowly shook his head. ‘He must not go!’ A little tear ran from the corner of his eye. Sharon, to cover up her embarrassment, bustled at the kitchen sink. Mat gazed into the distance. ‘I remember when the Health Department doctor came up the river in that canoe.’ He thought for a minute. ‘I was about ten then—I remember him sitting in a ponga whare.’ Mat giggled at the memory. ‘The rain dripped through.’ ‘Could carry two cord of wood,’ added Petau. ‘Used to have a big diesel once.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Think the Moananuis took it out.’ Mat grinned. ‘Think they didn't keep the payments up, eh!’ Petau smiled at the memory, and for a moment both men were once again on the river in days gone by. Sharon smiled sadly at the two old men. ‘We must do something,’ she whispered. Mat looked at her. ‘Why can't the Pakeha leave him alone! Poor Wairere—taken from his river.’