urdered, so had her
mother. This was one of the reasons why the teacher with the literary
ambition thought he could get a romance out of her.

After the first week she hung round the new schoolmistress,
dog-like--with "dog-like affection", thought the teacher. She came down
often during the holidays, and hung about the verandah and back door for
an hour or so; then, by-and-bye, she'd be gone. Her brooding seemed
less aggressive on such occasions. The teacher reckoned that she had
something on her mind, and wanted to open her heart to "the wife", but
was too ignorant or too shy, poor girl; and he reckoned, from his theory
of Maori character, that it might take her weeks, or months, to come to
the point. One day, after a great deal of encouragement, she explained
that she felt "so awfully lonely, Mrs. Lorrens." All the other girls
were away, and she wished it was school-time.

She was happy and cheerful again, in her brooding way, in the
playground. There was something sadly ludicrous about her great,
ungainly figure slopping round above the children at play. The
schoolmistress took her into the parlour, gave her tea and cake, and was
kind to her; and she took it all with broody cheerfulness.

One Sunday morning she came down to the cottage and sat on the edge of
the verandah, looking as wretchedly miserable as a girl could. She was
in rags--at least, she had a rag of a dress on--and was barefooted and
bareheaded. She said that her aunt had turned her out, and she was going
to walk down the coast to Whale Bay to her grandmother--a long day's
ride. The teacher was troubled, because he was undecided what to do.
He had to be careful to avoid any unpleasantness arising out of Maori
cliquism. As the teacher he couldn't let her go in the state she was in;
from the depths of his greenness he trusted her, from the depths of
his softness he pitied her; his poetic nature was fiercely indignant on
account of the poor girl's wrongs, and the wife spoke for her. Then he
thought of his unwritten romance, and regarded August in the light of
copy, and that settled it. While he talked the matter over with his
wife, August "hid in the dark of her hair," awaiting her doom. The
teacher put his hat on, walked up to the pa, and saw her aunt. She
denied that she had turned August out, but the teacher believed
the girl. He explained his position, in words simplified for Maori
comprehension, and the aunt and relations said they understood, and t